Questionable Sanity
by mulitcom
Summary: In which Deadpool becomes Rogue's neighbor, Gambit seduces his boss, and Rogue discovers that - although the Cure has worn off - she can touch and/or molest a certain man named Remy LeBeau. Shameless ROMY, with Wade Wilson thrown in.
1. Chapter 1

**Hola! This is my second Romy fic, and I'm tossing Deadpool into the mix just for fun. In here, he's got the personality he has in the comics, and he can talk, but he has the movie appearance. The one thing he _won't _be doing is breaking the fourth wall. :P  
Criticism is accepted. I'm warning you: I adore cliches.**

Chapter One

It was my choice to leave the X-Men, and nobody else's.

Things weren't going so well for me. The Cure wore off, of course, and left me as untouchable as I was before. Bobby and I fought over whether or not he had feelings for Kitty, and we eventually broke up. Mystique came out of nowhere, a scaly-skinned mutant once again, and told me she had morphed into the person I called my ma—that she _was _my ma, and had raised me.

Isn't that strange?

And Logan—oh, the man I trusted, the man I had a teeny-tiny crush on—was _different._ Jean's death had truly affected him. On the outside, he was still the rough, growly Wolverine he was known as, but inside, he was a heartbroken wreck. I could tell.

Of course, he didn't stop me from leaving, just like he hadn't stopped me from originally taking the Cure, but he didn't even bother to _talk _to me this time.

Leaving was easy. I packed up my bags, took the sock full of cash sitting at the back of my underwear drawer, emptied out my savings account, and moved a bit south to start over and rent an apartment building in Brooklyn. It was the type of small but cozy New York City apartment you see in movies, kinda lonely and cozy but not roomy enough to depressing.

There was a kitchen connected to a small living room, a bathroom, and a bedroom. In the room, I had my bed pushed into a corner, my dresser on the side, with a tall lamp and a small table. I had a new job, too—teaching and taking care of little snot-faced children at a nursery school. Apparently, you don't need a degree for that, and everybody simply assumes you're über-germaphobic when you wear gloves while tending to the children.

I was so quiet about moving into the building that nobody noticed me until the third week. I knew I'd been spotted by then, because I came home after a long day of wiping noses and cleaning spit to find a huge gift basket placed in front of my door.

I was pleasantly surprised, and didn't realize how strange the basket itself was until I'd unlocked my door, walked in, and set the thing down on my wobbly coffee table.

Once it was sitting directly in front of me, I noticed that the plain white straw basket was covered in hundreds of half-stoned smiley face stickers, and the handle had a large pink sticky note the size of my ass on it. Scrawled in big loopy letters were the words, _Welcome to the building! Love, Wade, your neighbor from 4-H._

And underneath that, there was a heart, drawn in the way hearts are used in text-talk.

Well, not really, because the 3 was actually replaced with a #.

The strange thing was, the note was _handwritten_, so a typo made no sense whatsoever.

Frowning, I turned the basket upside down and dumped everything out. I rummaged through the mess, sorting things into piles.

The content of the gift basket was, evidently, stranger than both the note and the doped-up stickers combined. The first thing I found was a G.I. Joe doll with its head chopped off. The second thing was a half bar of soap with teeth marks on one end, as if someone had been eagerly gnawing on their Dove products.

Next, I found a dog-eared copy of _The Little Mermaid_ (Disney edition, with a smiling red-headed Princess Ariel on the cover) and a partially empty container of Wite-Out. Then, there was a small clay sculpture of a swan… plus a dead tulip, an empty mechanical pencil, a CD collection of songs from the 80's, an English-Gaelic dictionary, a cardboard heart, a leaky Sharpie pen, a pack of instant noodles, and a broken toy soldier.

I was confused. Was this supposed to be a form of welcome? Or was Wade from 4-H, whoever he was, mocking me? Maybe he was laughing at me right now, making fun of the crazy girl who lived in 4-I and always came home with mucus and saliva on her gloves.

A sharp round of knocking on my door startled me and pulled me from my reverie. I got up to my feet, shuffling to the door. Forgetting about the peephole, I wretched the door open without thinking.

_Jesus Christ_.

There, standing there with his lips curved into a smile, was a Greek god in the flesh. Ruffled brown hair, chiseled facial features, stubble creeping across his jaw. Tall, lean, muscled but not barrel-chested like a bodybuilder.

After a double take, two things made me realize that he was real, and _not _a Greek god:

One—his eyes were red and black, demonic and piercing, but with a certain quality in them that made me want to trust him and keep him.

Two—when he spoke, his drawl was so French and southern and _Cajun _that I was reminded of my home in Mississippi, just across the river from those Louisiana swamp rats.

"_Bonsoir, mademoiselle_."

And I was looking into his beautiful eyes and freaking out and having a miniature heart attack, so I just blurted the first thing on my mind.

"You're a mutant."

The Cajun god blinked in surprise, and suddenly the red-and-black of his irises magically faded into a rich chocolate brown. Had I imagined it? "Well… _oui_, I am. I'm also your neighbor."

My mind raced, and I thought about the gift basket on my coffee table. "Are you… are you Wade from 4-H?"

The Cajun god blinked. "Huh? _Non_, I'm Remy LeBeau from 4-J."

Lord. I had neighbors on either side of my house, and they were both attractive men.

Well, I wasn't sure about Wade, but Remy was _gorgeous_.

_Who's Logan again? Who's Bobby? I'm sorry, they've just been wiped from my mind._

"Well, hello, Remy from 4-J. I'm Ro—uh, Marie." I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my chest.

Wait, no. That was an unfriendly gesture. I uncrossed my arms.

But… I needed to appear _casual_. I crossed my arms again, hoping he wouldn't notice my repetitive spastic arm motions.

"Um, okay, Marie." Remy looked at me strangely. "Are you new here, _cherie_?"

"Yeah-ep."

"Right. Could I borrow your phone? I need to call my date, and I forgot to pay the phone bills for this month, and I've lost my cell."

I slumped. He was taken. Screw this. "Oh. Come on in." I invited him into my home. "The cordless is in the kitchen."

Remy-Cajun-god LeBeau stepped in, and I gave him an once-over while trying not to be too obvious about it. He was wearing an open button-up over a black t-shirt, jeans, and boots. A leather cuff with a buckle was fastened around his wrist.

It was a simple outfit, but I was having trouble _not _foaming at the mouth.

Pulling off my gloves and tossing them into the bathroom sink—I would need to scrub them thoroughly later to get rid of the kid slime—I waited in the living room for Remy to finish making his call.

"…_oui_, I'm using somebody else's phone." He paused. "What? No, just a neighbor. Female. Mmm hmm." He sighed. "Don't be so paranoid. Wait, what? Wha—fine. She's a… a six point five, _chere_."

_A six point five_? I glared at his back from the open kitchen door. Okay, so it was possible that I looked a little disheveled after a day of handling toddlers, but I was at _least _a seven, even in this state.

"What?" Remy continued his conversation, oblivious to the daggers I was shooting into his back with my eyes. "_Non_, I haven't called my wife. Do you _not _understand the meaning of sworn enemy guilds? I shouldn't have told you about her at all!"

_Wife_? Lord. This man was crazy, telling his girlfriend about his wife. He was crazy in the first place for dating another girl, much less telling her he was married!

Remy glanced over his shoulder, saw me burning holes into his body with my gaze, and flinched. "Well, see you at seven. Uh-huh." He hung up quickly and tried to smile charmingly at me.

Alright, it worked, but just barely. "I can't believe you!" I exclaimed. "You're _married_, and unfaithful! I know it's none of my business, but since you called me a _six point five_, I think I can say whatever I want."

Remy twiddled his thumbs, cracked his knuckles, and let his hands drop limply to his sides. "You see, _chere_, there's a funny story about me and my wife…"

"I don't want to hear it." I shook my head and pointed to the open door. "Get out of my house."

"_Non_, wait!" He held up his arms in defense. "Don't be angry. I just want to explain a few things…"

"Get out!" A god, ha. He was a demonic Cajun womanizer.

"Wait!" He pleaded, trying again. "You recognized me as a mutant. Are you a mutant, too? Are you…" Remy glanced pointedly at the white streaks in my hair. "…Rogue, from the X-Men?"

_Wonderful_. Spiffing fantastic. "No."

"You are, you are! I recognize you, _chere_. I almost joined the X-Men at one point, did you know that?" He flashed a stunning grin.

"No, I didn't. Don't call me _chere_."

"Aw, _chere_, you're just as beautiful as you are in the pictures."

"I thought I was a six point five."

"I changed my mind."

"You _changed your mind_?" I stared at him incredulously.

"Uh, I mean… I just made up that line to please my date. You're actually quite beautiful. _Tres belle_." He nodded hurriedly.

"I should go warn your girlfriend about you," I told him. "But since she already knows you're _married _and doesn't seem to care about it, I don't think she'll be so bothered by my warning."

Remy blinked. "My girlfriend? Who?"

My mouth fell open. "The girl you were talking to on the phone!"

"_Ohhh_." He nodded, understanding now. "She's not my girlfriend. Just someone I got drunk with and accidentally told my life story to." He shrugged. "The first date matters, but the second date's not really important. She'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Oh, God." I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. "Get out."

"But—but we're off to such a good start, _chere_!"

"Get _out_." I pointed to the door.

Remy sighed, heading toward the door and disappearing around it. "Fine. I'll see you in the morning, Marie."

Whatever that meant.

I collapsed on the shabby sofa, rubbing my eyes. If I hadn't been worn out enough before, I was exhausted now. Remy LeBeau from 4-J was such a strange guy, and it was tiring to be around him.

Only five seconds of rest later, someone poked their head into my door and called out, "I heard the noise. Salutations, neighbor from 4-I!"

_Salutations_. What the hell? Was he from _Charlotte's Web _or something?

I cracked one eye open to glare at whoever was approaching me and rudely walking into my apartment without permission.

"Hello! Your name is Marie, isn't it? I heard Frenchy trying to woo you. Now, you see, if you were Barbie and he were Ken, things would've gone differently, wouldn't it? I could be Skipper, with my potty-training set and bedroom sixteen-piece." A face in a red and black mask towered over me.

"Who are you?" I sat up straight.

"Wade! From 4-H!" He rocked back and forth on his heels. "I see you've gotten my gift basket. The soap is quite a delicacy, isn't it?"

I stared at him. His uniform was a close match to the ones the X-Men wore, form-fitting and made out of some mysterious material. Two swords were strapped onto his back, forming an X shape with the handles near his head. "Are you a mutant, too?"

Wade smiled cheerfully. Or, at least, I _think_ he smiled. His mask just moved slightly. "Not by birth. If I'd been born a mutant, instead of engineered into one, I might've been more free-willed, ya know? My favorite foods probably wouldn't be Rufies and soap, for one thing."

"Engineered?" I was having trouble following his rapid-fire stream of consciousness way of talking. "What do you mean?"

Wade easily pulled off his mask. "Like this!"

I gasped.

He was hairless, his scalp smooth and white. His eyes were huge, big red scars marking where they'd been peeled open. His mouth seemed to have been stitched closed, then forcefully ripped open, a thin line representing what he used to speak.

"Also, I can do this!" He unsheathed his swords, and two matching blades popped out of his fists like long, twin demented versions of Logan's claws. Wade waved his four weapons around madly, slicing off the handle of his gift basket. "Oops."

"Wade," I exhaled, "can you please try not to destroy my apartment?"

"Right. Righteous. Riiighhhttteoouuus." He put his swords away, and the ones that were part of his body slid back into his skeleton. Wade pulled on his mask, letting the elastic snap as the bottom reached his chin, and sang in a high-pitched falsetto, "_'I am beautiful, no matter what they say. Words can't bring me downnnnn!'_"

I blinked. Music? _Christina Aguilera_, for Christ's sake?

He danced.

"Please get out of my house, Wade." He was better than Remy, but not by much.

He moon-walked out the door, waving his arms spastically while his feet moved smoothly across the floor. "Bye-eeee!"

I buried my face in my hands and groaned.

* * *

I awoke only when sun's bright rays began to stream through the shutters covering my bedroom window. I never used an alarm clock; alarm clocks were for wimpy night owls, not brave morning larks like me. The early bird catches the worm, and that was all I believed in.

"HOLY SHIT."

Yes, that's exactly what I said. _Shouted_, actually, and at the top of my lungs. Wade from 4-H could probably hear me from his own bedroom. And Remy LeBeau from 4-J could certainly hear me, because he was _in my bed_.

Remy blinked groggily and rubbed his eyes as I leapt up and ripped the covers off his body, revealing his striped pajama pants… and nothing else but miles and miles of toned tan skin.

"What are you doinghere?" I cried, trying not to stare.

He started cheekily, "Well, _chere_, I _was_ sleeping, but now—"

"What are you doing in my _bed_?" I demanded.

"Again, I was sleeping until—"

"_Remy_!" I threw my arms up, then quickly lowered them, realizing I was clothed in only a thin tank top and boxer shorts. "How did you get in here?"

"I picked the lock of your door." Remy shrugged, as if saying, _no big deal_.

I glanced at the mirror placed on the wall above my dresser. My hair was a mess, my eyes bleary, and my low tank top was one inch and a nip-slip away from resembling what's-her-face's costume—Emma? Emma Frost? The White Queen, or something like that.

"I have to get ready for work," I said flatly, turning back to Remy. "Can you please leave?"

"_Chere_…"

I paused. Why wasn't my mind swimming with French pick-up lines and perverted thoughts yet? I'd had to have touched him at least _once _in my sleep and absorbed him. There wasn't an off switch for my mutation, not even when I was unconscious.

Ohhh. Could it be…?

"Wait a minute… will you touch my arm?" I asked nervously, lifting my bare arm and holding it out to him.

"What?" Remy stared at me suspiciously. I recalled that he had asked me, the day before, if I was Rogue from the X-Men. Obviously, he was thinking about this.

"Just do it," I snapped, anxious to see what would happen.

Cautiously, as if he might implode any second, Remy placed his warm hand on my arm. Goosebumps popped up everywhere, trailing down my skin like a pathway.

I held my breath.

Nothing happened.

"YES!" I jumped in the air. For a moment, I was expecting to freeze in mid-air in happiness like a goddamned High School Musical character. Of course, that didn't happen, and all I got was gravity and a baffled look from Remy.

"Wait, so you _are_ Rogue?" He asked, sitting up. His muscles rippled at the movement. Lord.

"Yes, I'm Rogue!" I bounced excitedly. "My mutation's gone! IT'S GONE!" I squealed.

"Now, listen here, _chere_—" Remy began.

I ignored him and ran out the door, out another door, and into the stark cold hallway. I padded a few feet across the sickly purple carpeted floor and knocked on the door of 4-H with enthusiasm. Okay, so maybe Wade was a bit of a psychopath, and maybe I didn't know him that well—but he was a person, a person I could share my good news with, even if he had no idea what I was talking about.

"Wade, Wade!"

The door swung open. Wade was shirtless too, of course, and his body just as fit as Remy's was. Did _any _guy go to bed with a shirt on?

"Mmm?" He yawned widely, and it was the scariest thing I'd ever seen, the slit that was his mouth stretching to accommodate the size and sleepiness of the yawn.

Actually, if you took away the baldness and facial 'corrections', Wade wasn't that bad. He could be Ryan Reynolds' twin brother.

"I LOST MY MUTATION!" I shouted with glee, and attacked him.

"Oh…" Familiar spider web lines cracked his skin, and he twitched. "Rufies flashback! Whee!"

I gasped, tearing myself away from his chest. But I was too late—before I could reach out to catch him, Wade fainted, his head creating a loud _clunk _sound as he hit the floor.

I froze.

"Not very smart, are you, Marie?" Remy chuckled from behind me.

I spun around. "What did you do?" I screeched.

"I didn't do anything." His voice held a note of amusement. "False accusations don't get you anywhere." He cleared his throat. "However, I have a good idea of what's wrong with you."

"What?"

"A lot of things." He smiled.

I glowered at him.

"Kidding. Nothing's different. You haven't lost your mutation—but you can touch me."

I glanced at Wade, who was sprawled on the floor with his eyes closed and a woozy grin on his face. "Why _you_?"

"Well, why not?" Remy waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "I'm handsome and talented. You're the untouchable, helpless leech who left the X-Men. It was a match made in heaven, _oui_?"

"Oh, God. You are so _humble_." I said sarcastically.

"_Merci_."

I shook my head. "I have to get to work." I stepped out into the hallway, pushing past Remy's tall figure. My forehead only reached his nose.

Wade bolted upright. "Cheese burritos!"

Behind him, I could see a cluttered mess of a living room staring unflinchingly at me. Papers and random objects were scattered everywhere. "O-kay. I'll see y'all in the evening." I turned and reached for my own door.

"_Oui_, you'll see me in the evening," Remy grinned, and reached out to wrap his arms around me. I ducked away, my walk turning into a run. I'd be better off surviving with the X-Men, I thought.

Oh, screw it. There was no turning back now.

* * *

**Ah... thanks for reading. If you've read my other story, "Rainbow", you know what I'm going to say.**

**CLICK THAT REVIEW BUTTON!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Well, I wasn't thinking about updating... and then my computer got fixed, you guys reviewed, and a certain user named Demon Flame sent me a message about this story. Awww.  
****There's not much Wade in this chapter, but he'll pop up later with his awesomeness and Rufies fetish. This IS a Romy fic, after all.**

Chapter Two

The gusty wind whipped my face and sent my hair flying as I grappled for the handle of the door to the building. With a hard tug, the heavy door opened, and I slipped inside.

I knew from experience that, when there was a sign above the buttons that said 'Out of Order', the elevator was actually working. I tore the paper off the wall and crumpled it up, tossing it into a nearby trash can. I pressed the 'up' button and waited. It was a cheap, rickety elevator; there wasn't even a digital bar above it that showed what level it was currently on.

After a mighty long wait, I grudgingly headed toward the stairs, wondering if the elevator really _was _broken, for once. Though it moved at slow pace and the bottom part constantly vibrated under the soles of your feet as you waited, it was usually pretty resilient.

The elevator dinged dully just as my foot touched the first stair, and Wade stepped out, humming to himself. He was dressed in his skin-covering uniform and mask once again, though his swords were missing from his back today.

"Hey-lo, Marie!" Wade chirped brightly. "Goin' out for some doughnuts for dinner! The glazed kind, ya know, not the mushy kind with jelly or that weird white stuff in it."

I opened my mouth, but he rambled on without letting me speak.

"Isn't that called Boston Crème or something? I'm not sure if that stuff is cream… it looks a bit like sperm, doesn't it? Boston Sperm doughnuts. I'm sure those would go nicely with coffee, they'd sell real well with the hooker customers…" He walked out before I could reply, still talking to himself, disappearing around the corner in mere seconds. I watched him leave, completely bewildered.

Shaking my head, I peeled off my gloves and folded them, tucking them into my pocket. I hadn't dealt with the children today; I had been sent to the office to lick envelopes and paste stamps. While an envelope flap was in my mouth and glued to my tongue, Miss Grue, the boss lady, informed me that some mothers had been offended by my gloves when they'd arrived to pick up their kids. They'd complained to the office people, asking if I thought their children had contagious diseases or something. Miss Grue told me that she didn't want to cause any trouble or take my regular job away from me, but reminded me that I should be more careful around concerned parents.

Miss Grue was a strict, unmarried elderly woman with a heart of gold beneath her crusty exterior. She knew I was a mutant, and relished in letting me casually brush against her other employees to see if they were planning on slacking off or taking a longer lunch break.

I didn't _want _to be a narc, but the fact that I wasn't fond of my coworkers made it easier. They were all incredibly lazy and dressed like typical SoHo hipsters: beanies, nondescript glasses with thick frames, 'artist' clothes and purposely messy bed-head hair sticking out from beneath their caps. They made fun of my southern twang and constantly asked me where I'd gotten my hair streaks done—the fancy salon down the street or the dirty and gross shack across the road?

Still thinking about my day, I stepped into the elevator and smashed my thumb against the button for the fourth floor. The single metal door trembled shut, and the tiny box slowly chugged upward at a rhythmical pace.

_Ding_.

"_Chere_!" Remy stood there, waiting for me, his arms crossed and his foot tapping out a quiet beat. He grabbed my hand quickly, squeezing my fingers. A spark of energy jolted up my arm; it felt so amazing to touch _skin_. "Come on, follow me." He winked.

I narrowed my eyes and tried to squirm away. "Whatever it is, the answer is no."

"Aw, _please_?" He begged. "Just pretend. You're a good actress, aren't you?"

"Actress?" I raised my brows.

"Good! _Merci_, _merci_. Thanks for agreeing!" He grabbed my hand again and dragged me to his apartment, kicking the door open easily.

"Remy…" I cautioned, but he shushed me.

"_Désolé _for the wait, Janice." Remy smiled dazzlingly at the striking double-zero C-cup blonde on his couch. His home was nice, I thought to myself, looking at the portraits and paintings haphazardly tacked onto the walls. Only one piece of artwork was framed, but it wasn't a watercolor or oil painting or even a drawing: just a simple playing card, the queen of hearts, one corner singed and frayed.

Janice blew a kiss to Remy, offering me a polite smile as she distastefully moved her gaze up and down my body in an oh-so-familiar way: she was the popular girl, I was the dork. It was a Disney TV movie in the flesh.

"_You're _Bella Donna?" She asked scornfully.

I blinked.

"Bella Donna is my estranged wife," Remy whispered out of the corner of his mouth to me. "Crazy bitch. Hates me. Will you pretend to be her?"

Pretend to dislike him? That wouldn't be too hard.

"Yes, I am," I sneered to the supermodel on the sofa. "You must be Remy's latest… _companion_." I threw in a rich accent just for the fun of it.

"Companion? You mean _lover_?" Janice smiled coolly and tossed her hair over one shoulder. If I were the real Bella Donna, and not just the girl posing as her, I probably would've bitten her head off.

I mean, who in the world would be so smug about being _Remy's _lover?

"Lover. Whore. Whatever you want to call it." I smirked.

Janice hissed. I half expected fangs to shoot out from her gums and venom to fly out of her mouth. "Ex_cuse_ me?"

I mimicked her in French. "_Excuse-moi_?"

"Now, now, _chere_," Remy chuckled, patting my shoulder. "Don't be rude." He turned to Janice. "You wanted to see her? Here she is. Visiting straight from New Orleans. Almost got lost in the city today, didn't you, _Bella Donna_?"

"I did. Dis city is too busy, too loud. N'Awlins is much better dan dis." I hid my grin as Remy flinched, knowing that he didn't appreciate my imitation of his awful accent.

"Yes, yes, of course," Janice said coolly, as if she hadn't bothered to listen to me at all. "Remy, pick me up at seven again. Don't be late." She uncrossed her long, graceful legs and stood up to give him a long kiss. Compared to her, I was a simply an invisible midget, pale and stubby.

"Mmm, _oui_," Remy said, practically pushing her out the door. "Later."

She kissed him again, flicked her fingers in a 'ta-ta' farewell motion, and left.

He slammed the door shut behind her and shuddered. "Ugh," Remy said to me. "She might be gorgeous, _chere_, but she's a monster. She wanted me to bring Bella Donna here just to give herself satisfaction for being with me."

"I figured," I said dryly. "Why are you with her?"

"My job," he explained. "She's the one hiring me. I reckon I'll be her boy toy for a few weeks, until the job's done and she loses interest."

"And what job is that?" I asked, curious.

"None of your business." He ran a hand through his hair. "But good work on impersonating Bella Donna. You've never met her, but that was a great performance."

"_Merci_." I curtsied.

"Now, since you're already in my apartment—"

"Don't even think about it," I cut him off, knowing exactly what he was going to suggest.

"_Non_, not that." Remy grinned. "I was going to ask if you wanted to stay for dinner. I asked Wade, but he said something about Dunkin' Donuts and left."

I glanced down at his fingers, which were still tangled with mine. Human contact felt nice. "Okay," I finally agreed. "Dinner sounds nice. What can you cook?"

"Anything."

I considered it. "How about some ramen?" Asian food was the first thing that came to mind. I'd had it for the first time a few weeks ago, and it was _amazing_.

He groaned. "Ramen? There's no way I can show off my cooking skills while making _ramen_."

"It's possible," I insisted. "Impress me with your noodle-making expertise."

Remy dropped my hand. "Alright," he gave in, moving toward the kitchen. "I'll make some."

"Wait."

He looked at me expectantly. "What?"

I stretched my arm out to him. For some reason, he was the only person I could touch, and I needed to get a hold of myself and grasp that concept. "Hold my hand. Please. It felt nice."

He paused, then smiled. "Okay, _chere_," he said, and took my hand once more. "I can impress you one-handedly."

* * *

"I'd love to be a mutant, wouldn't you?" Danica, my coworker, asked me as we poured the little kids apple juice and served them year-old Fig Newtons. "They're so… _mysterious_. Especially the X-Men and that bad guy, the old magnetic one with the helmet."

"Mmm hmm." I ruffled tiny Jessica's yellow gold hair and smiled at her as she drank her juice like a big girl, using a plastic cup instead of her sippy cup.

Danica tucked a lock behind her ear. Unlike little Jessica's beautiful natural curls, Danica's splotchy dark hair had been straightened and curled and dyed so many times that it looked permanently fried. "Why aren't you listening to me, Marie? Mutants are _so _cool."

Sometimes, I liked the kids better than the adults.

"Uh, yeah." I sat down next to Danica and watched the kids eat their afternoon snack. I glanced at my watch and waved my hand. "I'm leaving in an hour. Talk away."

"Okay, so, have you heard of the mutant Gambit?" Danica asked excitedly.

I frowned. "Gambit?"

"Yeah, that's his code name."

"Sorry, I've never heard of him." I shrugged and bit into a Fig Newton. It wasn't as repulsive as I'd expected. In fact, it was pretty tasty.

"Really? But he comes from… _down south_. Like, where you're from. Where there are farmers and everybody's racist and everything."

I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to be upset by her offending assumption. What would be the point? Danica could care less about my feelings; she only talked to me when nobody else was around and she was really bored. "Sure."

"So, yeah, Gambit's hot. He disappeared a few months ago, though." Danica lowered her voice and said furtively, "Maybe he went _incognito_ and developed an alter ego!"

"Um… okay." I tossed her a peculiar look. "Maybe."

Danica nudged my leg with the toe of her Vans-clad foot. "Oh, c'mon, Marie, you should be more enthusiastic than this. Are you, like, homo?"

_What does that have anything to do with this?_

I sighed, groveling."No, Danica, I am not homosexual."

"Then why don't you like talking about _guys _with me?" She pulled the hood of her unremarkable black sweatshirt over her head. "You must be, like, a lesbian."

I glanced at my watch again. Fifty torturous minutes to go. "Let's talk about something else."

Danica brightened. "Alright. But don't forget, I'll _always _be here for you if you ever come out of the closet." She pulled out her purple iPod. "Do you like Vampire Weekend?"

Actually, I did, but I wasn't going to make conversation with her about it.

Squeaky-voiced Tommy trotted up to me with his empty cup. "Can I have more awwple joose, Miss Mah-ree?"

I shook my head and took his cup, putting it into the wastebasket. "No more juice left, Tommy. But you can have another Fig Newton if you like."

He made a face. I frowned, not understanding why the Fig Newtons were so unpopular.

"_Marie_!" Danica pouted and stomped her foot. She could've easily been mistaken for one of the younger kids. "What kind of music do you listen to?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Music."

"_Pop _music?" She gasped, as if 'pop' were a curse. "Or… _rap _music?"

"Well, the stuff on the radio is pretty good."

"Oh, that really narrows it down," Danica said sarcastically. "What station do you listen to?"

I opened my mouth to reply, then quickly shut up when a fierce blast of Chanel No. 5 hit my nostrils. Only one woman wore that particular perfume in the daycare, as popular as the classic scent was, and she made it known to everyone else.

"Danica!" Miss Grue barked. "Stop chatting with Marie!"

Danica, who obviously had whiffed Miss Grue's perfume beforehand, flinched and hastily shoved her iPod into her the pocket of her hoodie. "Sorry, Miss Grue." Miss Grue's first name was Anne, but anyone who was less than half her age was not allowed to call her that, with the exception of shrilly-voiced Suzanne, who was only twenty-five but spoke like a woman who had three children, six grandchildren, and a condo in Florida.

Miss Grue crossed her arms. "Marie," she said to me, "you can leave early today."

I could feel my lips split into a hopeful grin. "Really?"

"Really." She gazed at Danica, as if challenging her to protest. "And Danica, you can handle the children by yourself, can't you?"

"But—"

"Or, of course, I could get Suzanne to work with you. She's such a lovely girl."

Danica's eyes widened and she shook her head wildly. "I don't think that's necessary…"

"Well, now that you mention it, I'm not sure if you can handle the little ones by yourself." She twisted her head around and called out, "Suzanne!"

I smiled, tightening the loose ends of my cardigan into a knot. "Good luck talking to _Suzanne _about music," I told Danica with a chuckle.

She glared at me. We were both perfectly aware that Suzanne's iPod contained nothing but gospel songs and self-motivation podcasts.

* * *

"You're in my bed again." It was a statement, not a question.

"_Oui_."

"Get out."

"Oh, come on, _chere_. You're probably very cold on the nights when there's not another person in your bed." He yawned sleepily and pressed his warm forehead to mine.

Oh, that felt nice. My mother—er, _Mystique_—had done the same thing when I was smaller, a typical maternal movement that I'd never really thought about or truly appreciated while I'd still been able to touch others.

"Remy," I scolded, "stop taking advantage of me." He knew perfectly well that I couldn't resist being touched.

(That came out awfully.)

"I would never do that," he murmured drowsily, his eyes fluttering shut. His arm coiled around my waist and his breath tickled my collarbone.

"Remy," I said again, focusing my gaze on the cracked ceiling, "I've known you for less than a week. Get off of me."

"Aw, _s'il te plait_, Marie?" His fingers wrapped around my hip. "If you let me stay, I'll show you my mutation."

"What is it?"

"I can charge up the kinetic energy in objects, powering them up, like my cards. And—"

"Get to the point, please." I had a brief, fleeting hope that his mutation had something to do with mine, and it could help me in some way.

"I can make things explode!" He smiled excitedly against my shoulder.

"Oh, that's just fantastic," I said dryly, only slightly hiding my disappointment. "Why did I even let you into my home?"

"You didn't. I picked your lock again."

"Right."

Remy pressed himself against me. "Will you let me stay?"

I sighed. "As long as you don't blow up anything." I paused. "And… you have to stay at least six inches away from me."

He scooted over, then moved back a few inches. "Three."

"Five."

"Four."

"Four and a half."

"Are you going to actually measure it, _chere_?"

"Yes, with the ruler I keep between my sheets every night." I rolled over and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block him out.

The mattress creaked every time he moved.

"Stop moving!" I snapped.

He stopped.

Minutes ticked by, and the sound of his breathing began to drive me crazy. I turned over and cracked open one eye. I'd snatched away all the blankets, so I could see the outline of Remy's body clearly in the darkness. His chest rose and fell with every breath he took.

"What?" He demanded. "Do you want me to stop breathing, too?"

I felt my cheeks burn. "No!"

"Then what do you want, Marie?"

I pushed the covers off my shoulders, then off my torso. "Are you cold?"

"Not particularly."

I kicked the blankets away and into a matted lump at the bottom of my bed. "Me, neither."

He turned his head to glance at me from exactly four and a half inches away. "Okay."

Quiet.

I shivered. "Actually, never mind. I'm freezing my ass off." I sat up, crawled to the foot of the bed, and grabbed the blankets back, laying them on top of us like the batter of a layered cake in process. I made sure to distribute the thickest quilt evenly; my thermostat was broken and would never be fixed. Maybe Remy liked to act like a tough guy, but it was _impossible _not to be cold in my apartment.

Pause.

"I'm still cold," I muttered. My toes were unnaturally frosty, and the rest of me seemed to be covered in a thin sheet of ice.

_This is awkward_, I thought. I was in bed with Remy LeBeau from 4-J.

(It was not an euphemism. Lord.)

Remy reached over the four point five inch space that sat like a moat between us and grasped my hand in his. He met my eyes, and his irises glowed red-black in the dark. How did he do that?

My teeth stopped chattering.

He brought his arm around me and closed the remaining inches between us, gripping me a warm embrace that spread heat all through my body.

"Mmm," I said, without thinking.

Remy chuckled. "Because you're cold," he said. "I'm only doing this because you're cold." He seemed to be trying to convince himself with this fact, not just me.

He shut his eyes, and the pretty red lights were gone. I shut my eyes as well.

Remy LeBeau, I thought as I drifted into a peaceful slumber, wasn't as bad as I'd thought.

* * *

**Toward the end, I choked a bit on the fluff.**

**Miss Grue is based on my old sixth grade teacher, who inspired me to write more... because before that, all I'd written was a cheesy vampire novella featuring the band My Chemical Romance. (HAHAHAHAHA!)**

** Danica is based off of every wannabe I've ever met. I'm sure you've met someone like her.**

**Thank you to Chellerbelle, ithinkimaninja, annacat721, Chica De Los Ojos Cafe, Rogueslove22, WingedIcarus, Lauren, My Beautiful Ending, Demon Flame, ncsifan for reviewing. Total ego boost.**

**So. Thanks for all the alerts and stuff, but...**

**CLICK THAT BUTTON.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Happy February! I sucked with the updating. I know. But I have an excuse: I wrote a novel in that time! It doesn't seem like much to all you other writers out there, but I have a hard time finishing anything I write. I literally sat down and forced myself to finish it, because otherwise I would be wallowing in my I-can't-complete-anything misery for quite a while. Sigh.**

**Wade. ROMY. Mystique.**

Chapter Three

It was Monday morning and I had a headache the size of Caldecott county when Wade popped his head through the door and dropped a greasy brown bag in front of me.

"What is this?" I asked warily. I'd been just about to leave for work; my keys were in one hand and a half-empty can of Red Bull was clutched in the other.

"Tacos," he said, as if that explained everything.

"Oh, okay," I said, and didn't bother to question him further.

"Remy and I are going to play Uno tonight," Wade chirped. "Wanna join us?"

"Uno?" I finished my energy drink and tossed the can into the recycling bin. Yes, I recycled, I was a good person. "Sure, I guess. But aren't we a bit too old to play that game?"

Wade stared at me blankly, then ripped his mask off, tossed it onto the floor, and stomped on it. "Too _old_ to play Uno? That's like saying I'm too old to watch _Dora the Explorer_."

I blinked. "What?"

"EXACTLY."

I gently pushed him back, walked out the door, closed it behind me, and locked the door. Wade picked up his mask and dusted it off. "Alright, Wade, I'll play Uno with you guys."

As it turned out, that was proven to be a terrible idea.

* * *

"You're so slow, Marie! Even _Frenchy_ came before you, and he lives, like, a mile away. Was there any traffic on the way here?"

"We all live on the same floor, Wade."

"You should've turned on the radio to check the traffic reports beforehand." He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

"Why are you doing that? You look like an evil villain from an old cartoon."

Wade glanced curiously down at his palms, as if he'd just realized he had things attached to his wrists. "I got a new moisturizer."

From the living room, Remy waved to me. "Glad you could make it to our Uno-fest, _chere_."

I rolled my eyes and walked in, trying not to step on anything. I was unsuccessful in that attempt—the apartment was a wreck, objects strewn on the floor and things pasted and drawn all over the walls. In the center of Wade's mess, like the eye of a hurricane, was a small circle where the junk had been cleared off and a wooden table sat with Uno cards atop it.

"Ooo! Me first!" Wade frolicked through his chaotic jumble of items on the floor and sat down beside Remy, slamming down a green eight on the green four that was the starting card.

Remy placed a red eight atop Wade's card.

"Okay," I said, looking at my hand of cards. I felt slightly ridiculous playing a card game that was only a few steps above Go Fish. "I guess the best will go last."

But only five minutes later—

"Uno!"

Wade gave Remy a squinty-eyed glare. He had three cards left, two more than Remy. On the other hand… I had most of the deck.

I sighed and tossed out a random blue two.

Slowly and dramatically, Wade placed a wildcard on the table, covering my blue two. "Yellow," he chose the color in a low, theatrical voice.

"HA!" Remy threw down his yellow nine with a flourish. "I WIN!" He grinned, then made a terrible mistake in his feverish fit of victory: he leaned back, his fingers touching something that happened to be outside of the clean, sacred Uno circle.

"GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY POSTER OF MADONNA EATING PIE WITH A SPOON!" Wade screamed instantaneously, and his blades shot out from his hands. He sliced the table in half, cut-up Uno cards flying everywhere.

"What the—" I began, startled. Indeed, there was a blown-up photo of a young Madonna eating pie with a spoon, and Remy's hand was covering part of the star's hair, the smudged tiny pixels that made up her blond locks.

"GET BACK HERE!" Wade shouted, leaping up as Remy laughed and ran out the room. He chased after him, arms flailing frantically.

"Oh, Christ," I muttered, as the two men ran around in circles like small children.

"YOU STEPPED ON MY POWERPUFF GIRLS CANDLE!" I heard Wade holler from the bedroom. "WHY WOULD YOU CRUSH BUTTERCUP LIKE THAT?" The crunch of a wax candle being squashed beneath someone's shoe was audible even through Wade's yelling. "YOU… YOU MONSTER!"

I began to clean up the Uno cards that were still usable, deciding that Wade and Remy were just partially insane and would get over it eventually.

Remy rushed into the room, laughing hysterically as Wade followed him. A card from the pile in my hands flew out, and Remy snatched it out of the air expertly. I watched, stunned, as the flimsy card began to glow magenta. He tossed it backward to Wade, and it smacked him in the chest, exploding on impact. A hole was blasted right above Wade's heart, bloody and gory, but it healed just as fast as it appeared, the skin literally stitching itself back together.

"FRENCHY!"

Remy's eyes glowed red and he grinned, knocking over a broken wind-up clock with is foot. The clock exploded, showering the room with sparks.

I chose a something from the disorderly assemble of junk around me. There was a bottle of crusty nail polish, a putrid shade of brown. Next to it was a package of erasers that smelled like fruit.

"See, Wade? Marie's touching your trash, too." Remy flashed a smile at me. I rolled my eyes.

Wade stopped and blinked. "Oh, cool."

"What? That's not fair!" Remy protested, ducking as Wade sliced off a few strands of his hair, narrowly missing his nose. He laughed and tangoed away from the blades.

"Stop it!" I stood up, sloshing through the mess. I planted my hands on my hips and glared at them, feeling like a frustrated parent. "Somebody's going to get hurt."

"He started it!" Wade protested.

I poked his cheek, hard. With a gasp, he shriveled up, passing out.

"Hmm." I glanced at my hand as Wade twitched on the floor in his semi-comatose state. "Why can't I absorb him?"

Remy straightened up, regarding me with a mix of caution and curiosity. I couldn't blame him—he was probably afraid that he would end up like his Uno partner on the floor. "Absorb Wade, _chere_?"

"Yes. Shouldn't blades be popping out of my hands right now?"

He paused and thought. "Well, those were added to him later on in his life."

I had a flashback of Logan, and the bone claws that tore through my skin whenever I absorbed him. They were never made of his metallic adamantium, which I guessed he hadn't been born with.

"Right, but I don't even feel his personality."

"It was a just a poke."

I bent down and pressed my palm to Wade's cheek. He shuddered in his sleep, as if in pain, and I stepped back quickly.

"Well, I don't think…" I froze as something wedged beneath Remy's foot made a loud cracking noise, snapping in half. Subconsciously, as if removed from my own body, I heard the sound of a sharp intake of breath from my lips.

"Marie?" He glanced at me expectantly, carefully.

I tackled him to the floor as Wade's personality jumpstarted my mental circuits. I felt weightless, as if my mind was disconnected from my body.

It felt amazing.

"GET YOUR COW-SHIT FEET OFF MY CHEAP PLASTIC LION SCULPTURE FROM WATERLOO!"

Remy choked as the wind was knocked out of him, his voice raspy and muffled. "_Merde_!"

"ANY RESEMBLANCE TO ACTUAL PERSONS, LIVING OR DEAD, EVENTS, OR LOCALES IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL," I shouted, throwing a punch at his face. A tooth fell out.

He shook his head, and spit out a mouthful of blood in an '_oh, nice punch'_ manner. "_Folie __à__ deux."_ He stated, groaning and putting a hand over the side of his face. "Insanity shared by two. Wade is strange man, and you are much stranger, _chere_." He grinned, then winced at the pain it caused him.

Underneath the layer of said personality that was covering me, I silently agreed.

A little while later, Wade was still asleep on his living room floor, although his personality had faded from my mind, and I was back in my own apartment. I found myself in bed with Remy, who had snuck in just before I turned off my bedside lamp.

"I'm sorry about your tooth," I apologized as Remy curled up next to me, an icepack strapped to his cheek. His four and a half inches had been minimized to three, which I allowed due to my guilt over punching him in the face.

"It was my last wisdom tooth, _chere_," he said, eyelids fluttering shut. "It was supposedto come out some time or another. I just held off getting it removed."

"So… I did you a favor." I snorted.

"_Oui_." His eyes opened slowly, lashes rising like the curtains of the show. "Don't make me talk right now. It hurts."

"Sorry." I said again. I tilted my head back and stared up at the ceiling, my hand reaching for the off switch on my lamp. "Well… I'm turning this off."

"Be my guest," Remy mumbled.

_Flick_.

In the dark, I swallowed, my eyes adjusting. It was so _weird _to have someone in my bed whom I wasn't romantically involved with. The girls back at the mansion would die of heart failure if they saw me now, in bed with the Cajun ladies' man I'd just punched an hour before.

"Marie." He stated.

"Remy." I said his name the way he said mine, turning my head to look at him.

His fingers tap-danced across the three inches between us and graced my arm with a soft caress. I shivered. "Here's your daily touch," he joked, sounding slightly incoherent from the painkillers I'd stuffed him with after knocking out his tooth. "Since I can somehow touch you."

I flexed my wrist and pressed my fingertips into his palm. "Mmm hmm."

Just his calloused skin made me forget who I was. One person was more than enough for the untouchable Rogue.

* * *

"What's it like to have your mutation back?" I asked her uncomfortably, shifting in my plastic café chair. "It's more convenient, isn't it?"

Across from me, my mother—_ahem_, Mystique—smiled wittingly in a way that made her forehead crinkle like it always did. But I knew she wasn't my mother, at least not my biological one. She still had the same appearance she'd had when I was five, the brown hair tied in an elastic and free of gray, and the smooth face that lacked wrinkles. My real mother, if she were alive now, definitely would not look like a sister or cousin of mine—which Mystique appeared to be—instead of a parent. "It is."

I glanced down at my Dr. Pepper with ice. "I would've really appreciated it if you came to speak to me in your natural form instead of this one."

"I can't, not without getting kicked out of here." She gestured toward the neat café and the calm, quiet people milling around. "Would you rather I take on this form?" Her body rippled, and in seconds she was Remy LeBeau.

I dropped my fork, looking around hurriedly. When I figured nobody had noticed, I turned back to her. Mystique was already back in the form I had always known her as—my mother, not her scaly and blue original form—when I narrowed my eyes and hissed, "How did you know?"

"Know what?" She asked innocently.

"That… that Remy is the only person I can touch. _How did you know_?"

Like mine, Mystique's fork clattered onto her plate. "You can… you can touch him?"

I stared at her in confusion and disbelief. "Isn't that how you found out?"

"No…" she frowned. "I thought he was simply your latest boyfriend. I saw you two walking together yesterday."

I thought back to this morning, when Wade had forced Remy and I to go out and buy him a new pack of Uno cards, though _he_ had been the one who'd shredded everything to pieces. I'd gone willingly with Remy to the nearest Duane Reade, where we somehow managed to find a box of Uno cards. I'd paid attention to the way Remy talked and gestured the entire time as we walked down the street, not my surroundings. How could I have known that Mystique had tracked me down and decided to drop in for an impromptu visit?

"He's not my boyfriend," I said finally, and watched Mystique sip her tea. "But I'm really happy that there's somebody I can touch."

"Hmm." She didn't say more.

I gripped my glass tightly in my hand. The cold condensation running down the sides made my palm wet and slick. "Um, are you still with Magneto?"

Mystique stared at me, long and hard. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" I repeated. "It's a yes or no question, Ma—um, Mystique."

Her lips curled into a smug smile as I rushed to cover my mistake. "Then, no. I am not with him at the moment."

"You left me for him," I accused her, resenting the smirk on her face. "You left me parentless and alone with people who never liked me. You made me run away."

Mystique crossed her arms over her chest. She wore a vest over a sweater, blue jeans, and cowboy boots, the default for her Ma appearance. "I may have left you, but I did _not _make you run away. Your own weak control over your emotions and powers made you leave home to…" she made a face. "…to join the _X-Men_."

I didn't speak, fuming silently at her words.

"—But I am happy that you have left that trivial team of mutants to start a better life." She leaned across the table. "Would you consider pursuing a new life with me? You may even bring your… _friend _along. He's a mutant as well, isn't he?"

I met her eyes, a familiar green I saw every time I looked into a mirror. But Mystique's green wasn't real, it wasn't authentic. "How do you know," I began in a low voice, "that I quit the X-Men? How can you be so sure that I'm not on a mission and Logan isn't secretly hiding behind the far-right decorative pillar over there?" My gaze flickered to the Greek-style Ionic column in the back of the café.

Mystique stare turned beady and suspicious. My hand was only inches from her bent elbow. I could absorb her if I wanted to, and we both knew it. "You're bluffing."

"You don't know what I would do." Even to my own ears, I sounded dangerously hostile.

She sniffed disbelievingly and leaned back, an action that angered me further. "I do, actually. You are my daughter."

I gritted my teeth. "I am _not_."

"Not by birth, but I raised you and made you who you are. You can't deny that."

Her sleeves were rolled up, her mistake. I touched her elbow with my fingertips and met her gaze steadily. "That's right, I can't."

Mystique inhaled sharply as cracks fixed themselves across her skin. "Stop it."

I could feel my face straining against the resistance to change I was forcing onto myself. My body was already changing, filling out to match Mystique's currently more voluptuous figure.

"Shit," I muttered, as my simple green sneakers morphed into suede boots. I removed my fingers from Mystique, who was turning an ashen gray color. She gasped for air as I released my grip, and cast her eyes downward, avoiding my gaze. I was impressed that she hadn't fainted.

I tore my eyes away from her and focused on the couple at the table beside us, feeling the muscles of my face move, trying to change myself into the tiny, thin woman with the half-eaten pasta on her plate. I felt my waist shrink considerably and my height drop, but I forced my face to stay the same.

"I'm sorry," Mystique said, smoothing out the napkin on her lap and untying her hair. The swishy brown locks fell forward, more auburn than mine, and young and healthy. Hell, _I _had more white hair than my so-called 'mother'. Of course, the white in my hair wasn't from old age, but nonetheless, Mystique should have at least _one _white strand on her head to pass as my ma. "You seem to think that you're more _powerful _than me. You seem to disregard the fact that you are one of the weakest mutants on this planet."

Her second voice, filling my head with spite, repeated the words to me in a whisper.

"Really?" I let a bit of the voice take over my senses. "Weren't you weak yourself when you lost your powers, shivering and naked and vulnerable on the floor of a truck?"

Mystique stiffened.

"I can't believe you didn't turn into dust once your mutation was lifted. Aren't you one hundred, two hundred years old?"

She flinched. "A metamorphic mutant's physical age stays the same."

"You…" I started to fire off another insult, but Mystique's personality faded in a millisecond, leaving me speechless and empty-brained. How could I talk back to my _mother_, the woman who raised me? A rush of shame spread through my body.

I looked away, and she noticed.

Mystique smiled, and it was a smile as cold as Bobby's ice. "You're weak, Marie, but your powers are useful. One day, Magneto will rise again, and we _will _recruit you. I'll make sure of it."

I became flustered, my face hot and red. "I-I—"

Somebody cleared their throat. "There you are, _chere_. I've been looking everywhere for you. This borough—much less the _city_—isn't small, you know."

I turned to face my lifesaver, a certain man from 4-J, who had placed his hands on my shoulders from behind. "Oh," I said simply.

Remy chuckled. "Who's your friend?"

As I watched, Mystique's face seemed to slyly, discreetly increase in beauty, the cheekbones becoming more prominent and the eyes wider, the irises a shade of emerald that my plain ones couldn't even compare to.

"_Bonjour_," she said with a flourish, having automatically caught and identified his accent. She flashed him a captivating smile. "Call me Raven."

I shot a glare at her. "Remy, this is my _mother_. Ma, meet Remy LeBeau, my… neighbor."

Mystique ignored my blatant nastiness and said flirtatiously to him, "Nice to meet you, Remy."

He nodded and grinned crookedly. "Likewise, _madame_."

"Oh, I'm not married." She shook her head with exaggerated sadness. "Marie was a mistake, unfortunately. Illegitimate."

There was silence in the entire café.

_… At what point had I stopped loving her and realized what a bitch she could be? Today? Yesterday? Ten years ago?_

Remy blinked. "Uh… well, okay." He glanced between the two of us awkwardly. "I need to borrow her for a while. Is that alright with you, um, _mademoiselle_?"

"It's fine with me." Mystique grabbed my arm before I could leave and pulled me close to her face. I felt her breath in my ear and resisted the urge to run screaming away. "Don't forget, Marie, that I love you. I always will."

Remy quickly took my hand, our fingers interlacing. He tugged, hard, and pulled me out the café.

"What do you need to _borrow _me for?" I asked as we stumbled down the street, hand in hand.

He laughed. "Nothing. I just saw you when I went to pick up something to eat. I figured…"

"Figured what?"

"Just thought you needed saving, that's all. It was time to rescue you."

* * *

**Thanks to angel897, Fire Makes Me Smile, Redtailedfox, tfobmv18, Chellerbelle, ncisfan, Resirius, Rogueslove22, annemariedarkhome, LibraMoon, PuddingCup30, courtneykutie, Chica De Los Ojos Cafe, Demon Flame, and My Beautiful Ending for reviewing. I know I grossed most of you out with the Boston Sperm doughnuts. HURRAH!**

**=D**

**Click that button, and unicorns will no longer be endangered.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy Valentine's Day! I updated, yes. Lots of Wade in this chapter, and the plot thickens (it was very thin before, agreed?).**

Chapter Four

"There's a secret about the art on Frenchy's walls," Wade said randomly to me as we stepped down the street on a cloudy Saturday morning. "Wanna hear?"

He was dragging me off to the Met in Manhattan, which I'd never gone to. However, I doubted we'd be let into the museum if Wade kept his mask on. Already, people were staring at him and steering themselves away—even in a city like this, he was considered _weird_.

I was glad he hadn't strapped his swords onto his back today, otherwise we'd probably be arrested in broad daylight.

"Secret?" I asked, eyebrows quirking up in surprise. "If _you_ know it, Wade, it's not a secret anymore." I tugged at his mask. "You need to take this off. They won't let us in there if you look like a burglar." If he went into the museum with a bare face, the people would simply add my white hair with his scars and dismiss us as late Halloween geeks or creative makeup gurus. Or cosplayers. Of some sort.

"But…" he made a sad puppy face. "I'm sexier with the mask on!"

I shot him down with a stern look.

"Fine." Wade yanked the mask off, immediately catching the attention of a chubby, robed cosplay girl with short dark hair.

"Wow!" She said enthusiastically, hurrying toward us. "That's a great costume. I love the face makeup! What anime is that from?"

Wade blinked. But before he could say anything that could possibly scare the entire city away, I clamped my (thankfully) gloved hand over his mouth. "Not an anime," I alerted her. "Comic. The, uh…" I looked at Wade. He shrugged and said something into my palm.

"Deadpool comics," I told her, reading his lips. "They're the best."

"Really? Never heard of them. What publisher?"

I glanced at Wade, then back at her. "You know… a _publisher_. Yeah." I cleared my throat. "We've really got to get going."

"Oh, I'm sorry for holding you up." The girl quickly pointed to her outfit. "I need to get going, too. I'm Rukia from _Bleach_. My friends are waiting."

I nodded and hustled Wade away, removing my fingers from his mouth once she was out of earshot. "See?" I said to him. "People think it's makeup. They just assume you're some random costumed guy." I pulled my hood over my head as I spoke.

"Aw, shucks. Don't make me blush." His joke sounded a little forced, and he ran a hand over his bare scalp awkwardly.

"Wade?" I looked at him. He seemed self-conscious about his face being in the open, in the public. "Shouldn't we go?"

"Right." Wade straightened, his expression solemn. "The papayas and cow patties are waiting."

I smiled, knowing that he was back to his normal random self, and pulled him down the street.

* * *

"So, Wade says there's a secret about your apartment," I said conversationally, as Remy stretched across my bed, splayed out like a banana peel. It was normal for him to sneak under my covers every night, as_ provocative_ and _wrong _and _promiscuous _as that sounded (gosh, I loved my thesaurus). His own bed was probably growing dust in his bedroom, lonely and sad.

"If Wade knows it, it's not a secret," he yawned. I flopped down beside him, burying my face into the pillowcase. It smelled like Remy.

"This is yours," I said, and pushed the pillow into his face.

"_Non_, it's not."

"It is!"

"How do you know, _chere_?" He raised his eyebrows.

I felt my face burn with heat. "It smells like you."

Was I imagining things, or were his cheeks a little pink as well? "Are you sure your nose is accurate?" He teased, a bit weakly.

"Are you suggesting that someone else has been in my bed?" I put the pillow over his face and pretended to smother him.

"_Désolé_, _désolé_." His laughter was slightly muffled, and he pulled the pillow away from his face. "Anyway, what's the secret about my house?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, I was going to ask you. Something about the art on your walls, I think?"

"Oh." Remy frowned. "It's not a secret. I don't know why Wade would think…" his voice trailed off and he stuffed the pillow behind his head. "The things on my walls are from previous girlfriends. That's all. Even if they'll terrible artists, they all manage to draw or paint something for me. I keep them."

I shrank away, disgusted. "Like _trophies_?"

"_Non_!" He seemed offended. "It's just… do I look like an artsy guy or something? Every girl I date for more than a month makes me something to hang on my wall. Of course, most are inspired by the stuff they already see in my apartment, but…" He was beginning to ramble.

"Alright, Remy, shut up," I smiled and locked my hands together behind my head, kicking his leg. "You don't need to act like such a _boyfriend_."

Remy blinked, realization dawning. "Oh. I keep forgetting."

"Hey, I feel the same," I told him. "You're in _my_ bed, sugar."

His lips curved into a smile and he rolled over, wrapping his arms around my waist. "Well, since it feels like it already, why don't we just make it happen?"

I snorted, but didn't attempt to wiggle from his grasp. "In your dreams."

"Mmm." His nose pressed into my neck. "_Oui, _every night."

"Get off, Remy."

"Loosen up, _chere_. Tomorrow I'll be sleeping with Janice."

I stiffened. "What?"

"I'm taking her out for dinner, and she expects to get some action. I'll be kissing the boss's ass all night." He smirked. "Literally."

I winced at the mental image his words were providing me with. "But, then… who'll be my bed-warmer?" I pulled down the corners of my lips in a mocking frown.

"Aw. That's so romantic." His mouth vibrated against my collarbone as he spoke, laughing.

"I'm serious. I'll be freezing my ass off." I ruffled his hair. Getting physical didn't seem to matter to us—I could touch him, he could touch me, so we both took advantage of it without getting personal.

He did it to satisfy his hormones. I did it to enjoy and savor the feeling of touching someone without hurting them, vacuuming up a piece of their personality.

"Sorry, Marie. You're going to have to survive without me."

I'd gotten used to falling asleep with his familiar presence near me. "It's gonna be hard, darlin'." My fingers fluttered theatrically over my heart. "How will ah ever go on?"

"I don't know." He smiled teasingly. "Terrible, isn't it? But my job—"

"Prostitution, Remy?" I interrupted with a grin. "Shame, shame. What would Wade say?"

"I'm _not _a prostitute, _chere_. Anyway, Wade would probably refer to that Chuck Palahniuk book about that woman in the pornography business who tries to set the record for—"

I cut him off once again. "I don't want to know. If you're not a man-whore who takes money, what are you?"

"A thief." He seemed reluctant to admit this.

"Ooo, sexy." I winked. "Does Janice always hire thieves to do her _dirty_ work?"

Remy rubbed his chin. "Actually, that's what I'm doing. I don't know how she manages to stay so skinny, because she's the laziest woman I've ever met."

"And yet you sleep with her." I shook my head disapprovingly. "What would your family say?"

"Ah, they'd barely react, _chere_." He grinned. "I'm infamous everywhere I go. I don't really _screw_ Janice, you know. I just sleep on her couch."

"Tease."

"I know." He kissed my cheek. No kisses on the lips.

Only couples did that.

* * *

"Did you Google 'Gambit' like I told you to?" Danica asked eagerly when I stepped into the daycare on Thursday morning.

I nodded and lied easily through my teeth. "I did. But I just got definitions and synonyms, that sort of stuff." The truth was, I'd totally forgotten about it.

"Maybe you should try it again, this time with the keyword 'mutant'," she suggested, speaking slowly and carefully enunciating each word, as if I was stupid.

_Don't make me rip off your face, Danica._ "I tried that," I said, defending myself with more lies. "My server crashed just when I hit the Enter button."

"Oh, really? That sucks." She patted my knee sympathetically.

I heard footsteps, and we both froze, expecting Miss Grue or her lovely pet Suzanne. Out of the goodness of my heart, I grabbed Danica's screeching iPod and shoved it into my pocket, saving her ass.

The door burst open, and _Wade_ of all people walked in, whistling a merry tune to himself. "Hi, Marie!" He said, and waved. "I've got tacos for you. Again."

He plopped a brown paper bag in front of me, and I eyed it nervously. The tacos he'd given me a week before were fantastic, but they'd had a strange aftertaste that nearly made my brain explode with paranoid thoughts about corpses and dead flesh.

"Thanks. How'd you know I work here?" I tried to smile kindly at the kids who were staring at Wade's masked figure with frightened expressions. Only one boy, the naturally impassive Jacob, turned around and continued to play with his Legos. The other children started to cry.

"Magic," Wade shrugged. He glanced at my pants, were Danica's iPod was creating a strangely shaped bulge in my pocket. "Is that a rectangular dildo in extra-small, or are you just happy to see me?"

I stared. "I'm a girl."

"Oh. Right." He looked at the little kids he had scared. "I guess I'll be going now. Uno later?"

I gave him an incredulous look. "Are you kidding? Why should I go after what you did the last time we played that game?"

He stared at me blankly. "Weeellll…" Slight pause. "I have a pirated version of that new DC superhero reboot. We can watch it afterward."

"Damn it to hell. I'll come." I couldn't resist the temptation.

Wade cackled evilly and stepped out the door. "See you tonight, Marie!"

The door slammed shut behind him, and Danica turned to me with eyes the size of saucers and a mouthful of questions.

"Was that your boyfriend?" She asked eagerly.

"No!"

"Is Uno the codename for sex?" She continued without even listening.

"What? _No!_" I glared at her furiously.

"Why was he wearing a mask?"

"I can't tell you."

"Is he a robber?"

"It depends on the situation."

"Why did he give you tacos?"

"Tacos are amazing. I like them." I did. I was starting to get creative with my answers.

"Aren't they fattening?"

I shrugged. "Indulgence can be good."

Danica looked at the oily bag and lifted it in the air with only her thumb and index finger, as if the tacos were dog poop. "I don't think so."

I sighed. "Look, Danica…" I glanced down. "The kids are crying. We should give them the morning snack."

"Right." She nodded, though the sloppy, lazy expression on her face showed that she clearly didn't give a damn about whining toddlers. "I have my Blackberry with me. You wanna search up Gambit? Don't forget to add 'mutant' to the end."

I handed pigtailed Emily her Jell-O cup. "No, Danica, I'm not really interested."

She pouted. "Why not?"

_I'm a mutant!_ I wanted to shout. _I'm a runaway X-Man! I don't care about some guy in spandex who you think is hot!_

Instead, I sighed and said, "I'm just not interested."

Danica nodded, her hand outstretched, probably going to assure me that she was 'supportive of my lesbian ways', with that misguided mindset of hers. But she never got that far, because her decision to pat my cheek caused my unused mutation to kick into full gear. Her eyes widened and her fingers trembled, legs immediately giving out beneath her.

"Miss Danica!" One of the kids shrieked, as Danica tumbled unconsciously to the ground.

Wise little Jacob turned his eyes to me. "What did you do, Miss Marie?"

I froze. "I-I didn't do—I didn't mean to—" Why was I stammering around a tiny boy who didn't know anything about my history? There was nothing he could prove.

The door burst open again and this time, Miss Grue was really the one who entered. "What happened?" She barked, Chanel No. 5 wafting from her pores. "Danica, did you—" she stopped in mid-sentence and blinked at the limp form on the floor. "Oh, my." She raised her head. "Marie, come here."

I pointed to Danica. "But…"

"Leave her there." She was out the door before I could respond, obviously expecting me to follow her. I trailed after the scent of perfume, dread filling me.

"Marie," Miss Grue began the second I stepped into her office, "I'm going to have to let you go."

I swallowed. "What?"

She shook her head. "You can't be around the children any longer. It's not safe. If you can make Danica faint like that—who knows what you'll do to the children? They're such young, vulnerable kids."

"But—I can lick envelopes, or answer calls, or—" I tried uselessly.

"There are no available positions in the office, and licking envelopes is simply not a proper _job_." Miss Grue fixed me with a stern, sad stare. "I'm sorry, Marie."

And just like that, I was fired.

* * *

"Where's Remy?" I asked Wade as I trudged through the junk on his floor. He was sitting on his ratty sofa, his mask off, a bowl of buttery yellow popcorn in his arms. Just the sight of him, in bunny slippers and a cowboy hat, lifted my dour mood.

He shrugged. "Frenchy's at his girlfriend's house."

"She's not his girlfriend," I said automatically. When Wade gave me a curious look, I explained, "I mean, he's dating her to get more cash."

Wade chortled, and threw a handful of popcorn into the air. "Prostitution!"

"No! He's just trying to charm her away." As I ducked from his flying junk food, I wondered why I was defending Remy. I cleared my throat. "So, what are you watching?"

He pointed to the screen, and I glanced at it casually.

My jaw dropped. "No way. Oh my god, I love this movie! The effects were soooo good in the trailer. The actors seem like actual mutants, only cooler."

"I know, right? He's all, like, _whoosh _and _vroom_ and _swish_." He made noises like a small child and pointed to the small closet in the corner. "Do you want some popcorn? Uno's not fun without Frenchy, so I guess we'll just watch this movie tonight."

I frowned. "Wait, you keep your popcorn in your closet?" I shuffled over to it.

"Nah, I just didn't have enough room," Wade said cheerfully.

I opened the door, and a rush of popcorn flooded out like a slick and warm yellow sea, sweeping me up and knocking me over. I yelped, but the sound was instantly stifled by the popcorn that fell into my open mouth.

"I usually make more," Wade said, shrugging. Then he changed the subject before I could even react. "You know, we're very alike. You have nice hair. I have none. You're very normal. I have a friendly voice in my head that speaks in Courier New size-twelve single-spaced font."

I blinked, swallowing a mouthful of popcorn. "How does that make us _alike_?"

"It doesn't!" He happily threw a bowl at my head, and I caught it, shoveling popcorn into it. "Now come on, let's watch the movie!"

* * *

I rolled over. The bed was cold and lonely without Remy beside me. He was probably making out with Janice now, only to throw her off and sleep on her couch. Thoughts swarmed my mind like a cloud of wasps, and my pillow felt like a lump of coal. I'd left Wade's apartment more than two hours earlier, and I still couldn't fall asleep. With the exception of myself, insomnia was the only other person in my bed.

My worries made my stomach churn.

I'd lost my job. The rent for the apartment, as small as it seemed, was getting higher and higher. How was I supposed to live out here? I didn't want to go back to the X-Men.

Never. The X-Men would be my last choice. I wasn't going to humiliate myself by crawling back to them. I was nineteen years old; I couldn't drink, but I wasn't a minor. I could work, I could earn a living, and I could survive on my own.

I shivered.

Throwing the blankets off my body, I sat up and swung my legs across, feet touching the floor icy floor. I padded out the bedroom, nearly crashing into my dresser in the dark, and stepped out of my apartment and into the hallway. Rubbing my goosebump-covered forearms, I rapped my knuckles on the wood of Wade's door.

It creaked open on its own, with nobody behind it. Apparently, he'd left the door unlocked.

Hmm.

I tiptoed in, hurting my feet multiple times as I stepping on particular sharp objects on the floor. I located the bedroom—the design of his apartment was identical to mine—and slowly crept inside.

"CONTINUITY!" Wade sat up instinctively, awake before I even reached his bed. Then he stared at me with huge, bleary eyes. "Marie?"

I said feebly, "I'm cold. And I lost my job today."

I knew that he was a mercenary of some sort, a mutated killer—the merc with a mouth. Heprobably never had employment problems, not like me.

He hesitated, a very uncharacteristic action. "Okay," Wade said, and patted his bed. "Come here." He stood up and rummaged around as I crawled into his bed. When he finally found what he was searching for—a red long-sleeved shirt—he pulled it on and slid under the covers beside me.

With his arms and chest and back covered and immune to my poisonous touch, I curled up against him, and his warmth lulled me to sleep.

…I hoped Remy wouldn't mind.

* * *

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**Thanks to Kitama, Celeste Genevieve, Rogueslove22, My Beautiful Ending, Chica De Los Ojos Cafe, courtneykutie, Chellerbelle, annemariedarkhome, Cowgrl94, ithinkimaninja, Demon Flame, and Fire Makes Me Smile for reviewing. Gahhh. I love you guys.**

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	5. Chapter 5

**I was slacking off until I saw the reviews you guys gave me. They were all amazing, and I'm sorry I couldn't reply to all of them. Many unicorns were saved. :)  
I made a lot of corny references in this chapter. See if you can spot them. Hope you like it!**

Chapter Five

I bumped into Remy in the hallway.

"_Chere_," he said, surprised. "What were you doing in Wade's—" He stopped and stared at my pajamas, my rumpled hair. His face darkened. "You _slept _with him?"

"Kettle," I said calmly, pointing to him and his sex-hair and half unbuttoned shirt. "Pot." I pointed to myself, then waggled my eyebrows suggestively. "You had fun with Janice, didn't you?"

He didn't reply, looking pissed.

"Anyway, I didn't _bang _Wade. I can't touch him, remember?" I rolled my eyes.

Remy narrowed his eyes. "But technically, a condom—"

"Shut up," I silenced him with a piercing gaze. "I only had a few hours of peace."

"What do you mean?"

"I might've accidentally touched Wade in my sleep, because I had the craziest nightmares. I felt like locking myself up in an asylum when I woke up." I rubbed my temples. I'd actually gotten a few more hours of sleep than I usually did, but Wade's personality had made my dreams run wild. I'd half-expected blades to pop out of my skin when I awoke, after absorbing him for so long.

"But _chere_…" his face was still sour.

Wade's door flew open, and we both jumped. He stumbled out, yawning. "Maarrrrieee, did you—" he halted and smiled slightly. "Frenchy! We missed you last night."

Remy looked at me again. I shrugged.

"Um, I missed you too," Remy offered. "What did you do, exactly?"

"We watched a movie, ate popcorn, and she snuck into my bed!" He reached behind him and snatched his mask from where it lay on top of a cracked old lamp. He pulled it on, nose twitching like a rabbit's. "Did you have fun being a prostitute?"

Remy glared at me.

"Courier New size-twelve single-spaced font," I muttered to myself, ignoring him. The remnants of last night's nightmares rolled around in my mind. I shook my head. "How do you deal with it, Wade?"

"Deal with what?" Remy inquired.

Wade glanced at me, brushing off Remy's question like a fly. "I got used to it. HOOOWAAH!"

Remy waved his hand between our faces. "I'm still here."

"I _know_ you're here, Remy," I snapped. "And you should've been here _yesterday_, when I actually needed a friend to sulk with."

He blinked in confusion.

I sighed, surrendering. "I got fired."

He stepped back. "What?"

"I lost my job. Sacked. Pink slip. Laid off." I glanced at Wade, who was fiddling with his claw-blades, shining them enthusiastically on his sleeve. Then I turned back to Remy, glowering at him. "While _you _were off seducing your boss."

He winced. "Aw, _désolé_, Marie," Remy said sympathetically. "Sorry."

"Yeah, thanks, but I don't want your pity." I opened the door to my apartment and stepped inside, my bare feet touching the cold floor."Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get dressed. I'm going job hunting today."

I slammed the door in their faces, as indignantly as a person in her frumpy old flannel pajamas could do.

* * *

My morning of job hunting was tiring and unsuccessful, and it eventually brought me to the café where I'd last talked to Mystique. The café was called Sparkle—apparently, it was a branch of a famous bar and grill called Dazzle, which was conveniently near Xavier's School.

I sat at a table and waited; subsequently, a waitress came over and asked me what I wanted. I asked her for a job, and she laughed and told me to talk to the owner.

"Well, where is he?" I asked.

"_She_," The waitress corrected me. Her nametag read _MALICIA _in bold letters. What kind of name was Malicia? "And she's not here today."

"Oh." I slumped in my seat. "I'll come tomorrow, then."

"Good luck with that, hon," Malicia said. She was about my age, with thick brown hair and a southern twang. "She never shows up. The woman's lazy as fuck."

I raised my brows. "Oh."

"Might be schizophrenic, too," Malicia mused, tapping her chin. "Heard her talkin' to herself about Hart's the other day."

"Hart's?" I repeated, curious.

"Our competition." She jerked her head toward the window, where I saw a thrifty, retro-looking place across the street. "Owned by 'groovy' Mr. Hart."

"Hmm." I tapped my fingers on the Formica tabletop. "I guess I'll give them a try, too."

Malicia's eyes widened, and the pad of paper in her hand dropped to the floor. "No, no!" She exclaimed, as she bent down hurriedly to retrieve it. "You can start here next week, as long as you don't try Hart's. _Please_. I'm sure the boss lady will allow it. I'll tell her." Her words were rushed and aggressive.

I blinked. "Um… y'all are really that competitive?"

"Yep. Now—what's your name?"

"Marie."

"Marie, I'll tell the boss lady when she actually shows up. Her name's Ms. Jones, though I hate calling her that. We're practically the same age."

What a generic name. "Don't you have a manager?"

"Yes, but he ran off. Ms. Jones is supposed to be the manager now, as well as the owner. She's too… _flighty _to do anything, though." She scowled. "Always off with her men. Whore."

I was starting to like Malicia. "Okay… so, can I start Monday?"

"Yeah. I'll tell her that I save you from being hired by Hart's. Ms. Jones will understand, she's absolutely _cutthroat _when it comes to Hart's. They were together at some point, I believe. Hart dumped her." She clicked her pen and smiled with satisfaction. "Can't say she didn't deserve it, always sleeping around with other guys."

Why did she feel the need to give me all this information?

"Wow." I bounced nervously in my seat, then stood up. "So… uh… I guess I'll see you next Monday?" I stuck out my hand.

Malicia stared at my glove-covered fingers with interest, but didn't grasp and shake. Instead, she stuck her notepad and pen into the pocket of her apron and untied it. "I've got an early break today. Wanna go out for coffee or somethin'?"

I looked at her suspiciously, awkwardly lowering my hand. "Coffee?"

"Yeah. This might seem a little kindergarten-ish, but… Do you want to be friends?" She laughed, then said in a strangely serious voice, "Just trying to help."

I was speechless.

She quirked up a brow. "Well?"

"Uh… sure. Let's be friends."

"Cool." Malicia pulled the apron off her waist and tossed it to a nearby waiter, who grinned at her flirtatiously. She returned the smile, then turned around and said to me, "Say, are you from Mississippi?"

* * *

"So, how'd your job hunting go?" Remy asked me. I was still upset with him, and I'd pushed the distance between us back to a firm length of four-and-a-half inches. He was lucky that I let him into my bed at all.

"Great," I said, not looking up from the thick book in my hands. "I didn't even have to go through an interview, and I made a new friend."

Remy seemed surprised. "Only one day? How lucky."

"Not luck," I corrected him. "Skill."

"Oh, really?" He leaned across the four and a half inches without giving a damn, snapping my book shut with his hands. "And how does this job involveskill, _chere_?"

I narrowed my eyes and yanked the novel away from him, setting it down. "Balancing things on trays. Making sure my penmanship isn't too illegible for the guys in the kitchen."

Remy stared at me wordlessly, then burst into howling laughter. "You're a _waitress_?"

I jabbed my elbow into his ribs. "Shut up."

He continued to laugh, rolling around on the bed. "You—a waitress! No offense, _chere_, but you'll kill someone just for forgetting to tip you."

"Are you saying I'm not a people person?"

He turned his head and looked at me. "_Non_, that's not what I mean. Some people just might piss you off, that's all." His arms curled around my waist. "Right, Marie?"

"Four and a half inches," I grumbled.

"Oh, come on." He slid off my gloves, which I'd forgotten to take off. "Doesn't it feel good to touch _somebody_?" He took my hand and pressed it to his neck. I could feel his heartbeat, a steady drum pounding out the smoothest rhythm.

"It does," I confessed, though I snatched my hand away, examining his tan skin. "I'm surprised you don't have any lovebites from Janice."

Remy rubbed his neck. "Me, too. I didn't _bang _her"—his lips curved as he used the ridiculous word I'd chosen earlier—"but we got pretty far."

I recoiled. "Great, now I've got to burn my hands."

"She's a brat," he said. "I didn't enjoy any of it."

Pause.

"Actually, that's a lie. I _loved _it, except when she started talking."

I rolled my eyes and mimicked Malicia. "Whore."

"_Oui_, I know. She thinks she's using me, when it's really the other way around, eh?"

"I was talking about _you_, Remy. Not Janice."

"Ouch!" He grimaced, then laughed.

Silence. I turned the light off, and we were drenched in darkness.

"So," Remy said casually, "how was Wade's bed?"

I shrugged, though he couldn't see me do so in the dark. "Soft."

"You sure you two didn't do anything?" His voice was light, but I could sense something tight and edgy behind its easygoing mask.

"We _can't _do anything," I said, rolling my eyes. "The only person I can do anything with is… you." I smiled slowly, then made a loud gagging sound.

"Nice."

"I know." I kissed his stubbly cheek, catching him by surprise.

"Whoa."

I chuckled. "Why so shocked? You do it to me all the time."

"_Oui_, but…" I saw him blink, the outline of his lashes flickering in the faint artificial light from outside. "It's different. What happened to the four and a half inches?"

I scooted over. "There."

"Oh, _merde_, what am I saying?" He growled. "I don't want four and a half inches." He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me close.

I laughed, though my heart was pounding. "Cheesy."

"_Chere_, would we be considered 'friends with benefits'?"

"Oh, no. We're not even friends," I joked. I felt his warm breath on my ear and failingly tried not to shiver, sliding slightly away.

"Then why are you reacting like this?" He teased, with a hint of seriousness in his tone. "I'd say that we're even more than friends." His hair brushed my cheek.

I narrowed my eyes and roughly pushed him away. "Screw you, Remy."

He flinched. "I didn't mean—"

I rolled over and pulled the blankets up to my chin. "Yeah," I muttered. "Go to sleep."

* * *

I swept into the café on Monday morning, anxious. I spotted a familiar face—the waiter somehow associated with Malicia?—and asked him, "Is Malicia here?"

Before he could reply, the girl I was looking for came out of nowhere, apron in hand, grinning. "Marie! Nice to see you. Here's your uniform." She tossed me the flimsy black cloth, its strings dangling. "Tie it around your waist," she instructed.

I did. It looked strange.

"Wow! You look like Sookie Stackhouse from _True Blood_." She laughed and handed me a pad of paper and a ballpoint pen. "But you're not blond."

"Never will be," I muttered, taking the supplies and slipping them into the built-in pocket of the apron. "What do I do?"

Malicia shrugged. "Take orders. But this is a café, not a restaurant, so you won't be carrying around really heavy dishes."

"Oh, okay."

"C'mon, get started!" She said enthusiastically.

I glanced around. "But… nobody's here."

Malicia threw me a towel. "Then wipe down that table over there. It has gum on it that's probably older than you."

I looked uncertainly at her. "Uh…"

"I'll pay for our lattes again during break." She bartered innocently.

"Alright. I'll do it."

A little while later, our first few customers arrived: a young couple, an old lady, and a tall, lanky person of an ambiguous gender. I served them happily; the job wasn't nearly as hard as I'd expected, despite the gum I had to scrape off the table that the blissfully unaware couple were now seated at.

The morning passed by nicely, and I stopped between orders to chat with Malicia. She was really quite interesting; if I had a secret twin sister, it'd probably be her.

"Shh, Ms. Jones is here," Malicia whispered right before our break. "I reckon she wants to talk to her newest employee."

I blinked and looked at the door, half expecting a midget of an uptight woman in a pencil skirt and suit jacket to walk in and march up to me. Instead, a familiar skyscraper of a lady stepped in. Her yellow hair was up in a bun, and she wore a low-cut v-neck shirt that revealed too much cleavage and tight jeans were more like tape than actual pants. When she saw me, her eyes widened, irises that were pale blue with pinpricks of black in the centers.

"_Bella Donna_?" Janice asked in surprise, stopping short in front of me. Her shirt really dipped too low—how was it possible that her boobs hadn't frozen and fallen offfrom the chilly weather outside? Fall was melding into winter, and much too quickly in this city.

Malicia jabbed me in the ribs, whisper-hissing, "Who's Bella Donna?"

I shot her a look that clearly said _I'll tell you later_ and offered Janice a polite smile, grating out, "Hello, Jani—Ms. Jones."

Janice crossed her slender arms over her chest, bristling. "I thought you were just visiting."

I thought about Remy. "Uh, _oui_, but…" I was becoming flustered. "Um…"

I would've at least _attempted _to continue my Bella Donna façade if Janice hadn't abruptly leaned over, her nose a centimeter away from mine, and said in a low voice, "Don't think you can get him back. Everyone wants him, but he wants _me_. You lost your chance years ago, bitch." Then she smiled with infuriatingly smug satisfaction and stepped back.

My hands tightened into fists at my sides. How many people had treated me like this, both before and after I'd met the X-Men? How many times had I been too weak to fight back? "Too bad," I hissed, without thinking about the consequences, or what could happen to Remy. "I'm _not _Bella Donna. I'm the girl your so-called boyfriend sleeps with every night."

Janice paled, and I almost smiled. In less than a second, fury turned her face an ugly mottled red, and she spat, "Liar."

"Um, Marie," Malicia tugged on my arm, her voice soft but urgent. "You don't want to get fired, do you, dumbass?"

She was right. What was I _doing_, angering the devil like this? For God's sake, it was my first day!

I cleared my throat, and stuck out my hand as if nothing had ever happened. "Right. Nice to meet you, Ms. Jones."

Silence.

Janice stared at me incredulously. "Who the _hell _are you?"

"Well—"

"Get out of my café!"

Malicia stepped forward. "Actually, Miz Jones, this is a public place for all civilians, I don't really think you can kick someone out without a reason." She glanced at her watch. "But we'll go anyway, since this is our break time. By the way, this is Marie. She's your newest employee."

And, without another word, Malicia took my arm and pulled me out of the café.

"Wow," I said, as she dragged me to the Starbucks. We weren't going to have a proper lunch—we were going to have cookies and coffee. "That was… odd."

"That's what _I _should be saying," Malicia said as she haphazardly threw a wad of dollar bills and change to the bored-looking man behind the register. "What's wrong with you? Did you just decide to pick a fight with your boss, then randomly back down?"

"Hey, _you_ made me back down," I retorted. "Things would've gone fine if you didn't."

"Yeah," Malicia said sarcastically. "You would've gotten fired. You know, back in Mississippi—"

"Don't try to pull a 'back in Mississippi' line," I warned her. "I'm from the same state, remember?" And why had some of her accent faded in front of Janice, then returned as an almost stereotypically pronounced twang when she talked to me?

She handed me my latte. "…Right."

I took a scalding hot sip. Even with the mind-numbing temperature, I could distinguish the flavor and tell what it was. "This isn't a latte!" I exclaimed. "It's… coffee. Black."

Malicia shrugged. "I figured you'd like it that way."

I stared at her, because I _did_ like my coffee black. "How'd you know?"

"I drink it this way, too," she said, rather defensively. She held up her Styrofoam cup. "I just assumed that you'd like it this way, too."

She was almost exactly like me. She just wasn't a mutant.

Wait. How could I be so sure that…?

"Are you a mutant?" I blurted.

Malicia raised her brows. "Now, what would give you that idea?"

"Well, I…" my words trailed off as her entire body rippled, and she transformed into a familiar scaly-skinned metamorph I knew too well.

Mystique.

"Oh." I said simply, dropping my coffee. "This day is just full of surprises, isn't it?"

* * *

**Many, many thanks to Saint of the Sinners, KittyKat5742, X-Chick218, courtneykutie, EmeraldGreyClouds, angelwingz21, stateofemergency, tfobmv18, vampiregirl1654, crazingonbeyblade111, Rogueslove22, IsItTime, PuddingCup30, annemariedarkhome, Arich, Celeste Genevieve, Fire Makes Me Smile, ithinkimaninja, Demon Flame, and Chellerbelle for saving a unicorn. Every review brightened my day.**

**Today we will be saving... hmm... baby dragons? lolcatz? Jigglypuff? Clones of James Franco?**

**CLICK RIGHT THERE.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AHHH! You guys are amazing for all the reviews, favorites, story alerts, and even author alerts. I had major writer's block on this story. I got this chapter started, however, and I was determined to finish it. So, here, AN UPDATE.**

**To jog your memory: Marie sleeps in Wade's bed, gets a new job working for Remy's fake-girlfriend (who also owns a cafe) and makes friends with a girl who turns out to be Mystique.**

**PS: Yes, I _needed _to use the word "debonair".**

Chapter Six

"I can explain," Mystique choked, as she gasped for breath. My hand was around her throat, and I had her on top of a Starbucks table. The cashier guy was staring at us with wide eyes and a mouth in an 'O' shape, absolutely terrified.

Mystique, cold-hearted shapeshifter, could probably knock me out with one hand behind her back. But she was my mother, and that was probably why she was surrendering to me.

Or maybe it was because the fingers I had on her neck were bare, and her indigo skin was cracking like glass that was about to shatter.

"Explain what?" I growled. "After our last meeting, I thought I'd made it pretty clear that I _won't join you_." I felt my nerves tingle and my skin pop out in scales. But fear coated me in a thick layer as well, despite my brave and bold front. I was afraid that Mystique would lash out and hurt me, as she'd hurt my fellow X-Men—I mean, my former teammates.

"No, no, that's not why I'm here." She shuddered and shoved me roughly away. "I… just…" The spider webs on her skin disappeared, and she swallowed. "I wanted to help."

I laughed harshly. "Yeah, sure, help from _you_, a killer, Magneto's zombie, an enemy."

"I felt bad. You are my daughter, Marie. You could've decided to never talk to me again after that day in the café. But I need… closure." She sounded a bit desperate, desperate enough to make me wonder if she was the same Mystique I'd met before.

"Closure?" I spat. I felt rage boiling the blood in my veins, white hot and furious. "A minute ago, you were _Malicia_! You acted like that to befriend me!"

"A mother knows her daughter best," Mystique stated. "And I wanted to help you."

My voice grew small. Internally, I cringed for showing such a sign of weakness. "I really thought I made a friend. Someone I could trust."

Mystique softened, as if she wasn't soft enough already. "Marie…"

"Shut up!" I'd touched her skin longer than I'd meant to, and the feral part of Mystique that I'd ripped from her personality told me to slam her back into the table. So that's exactly what I did, hearing the sickening crack of her spine hitting the hard surface. She laid there and did nothing.

Shaking, I backed away. "Why aren't you fighting back?"

"Because I'm telling the truth," she said, sitting up without trouble. Her eyes were cool yellow and glossy. "Didn't you read my mind when you absorbed me?"

"No," I said, because I really _hadn't _considered grabbing her first thoughts when I'd touched her. My first instinct was to always block out whatever as much as I could—especially thoughts—when I absorbed someone. "I don't want to read them. Just—just stay away from me." I backed away slowly.

"I'll tell the X-Men you're here!" She threatened frantically, as if she was running out of tactics. "Just listen to me, Marie…"

"Stop saying my name!" I shouted. "I don't believe anything you say!"

I was trembling like crazy. The Starbucks boy looked like he might faint. Turning on my heel, longing for the Malicia I'd thought was my friend for all of five blissful seconds, I ran out.

"So… I didn't know Janice is your new boss," Remy said conversationally. Being the idiot that I was, I'd gone straight to him after work. I'd managed to straighten things out with Janice, but just barely.

She didn't seem to believe the rapidfire lies I'd fed her about my 'conditions,' that long list of inexplicable things including schizophrenia and a multiple personality disorder. But she let me stay because she had a café to run—when she wasn't hiring Remy as a thief and sex partner, of course—and her staff was a bit short of workers lately. And she'd just lost one.

After all, Mystique had left town, so Malicia was nowhere to be found.

It didn't matter. I still had a job, though I could be fired any minute.

"She told you about me?" I asked warily. Remy was cross-legged on the floor, an open carton of Napoleon ice cream in his arms. He was eating as he watched TV, the flickering images making his face glow. I was splayed on his couch, my feet dangling off one end and my head tilted up to the ceiling.

"Not by name," Remy said. "She called me in the middle of the day and said exactly, 'some psycho chick with skunk hair spazzed out on me at work today, and I almost mistook her for your _wife _because of that stupid hair. Isn't that funny?She's my new waiter. Isn't that, like, _crazy_, Remy-baby?'"

I made a face. "She calls you 'Remy-baby'?"

"Unfortunately, _oui_," he said, licking ice cream from his bottom lip. I had the urge to do it for him, and that was just… never mind. "Just a few more weeks until my torture ends."

"A few more weeks?" I asked. "What are you going to do after that?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Find a new job. Thieves for hire are very popular, _chere_."

"Right." I cleared my throat. "So, about Mystique…"

Remy paused. On the screen, kitchen soap was being advertised with dancing utensils and music. He grimaced, and I knew the catchy jingle would be stuck in his head later. "What about her?"

"She… approached me today. Said she wanted to help me out."

He snorted and resumed eating his ice cream. "I doubt it."

"I know. But, still… she _cares_."My mind was racing, thoughts of a family and the good memories I'd shared with my 'mother' in Mississippi clouding over everything else. I tried to wave it all away, feeling gullible and naïve. Why did I change my mind so easily? I used to be able to stand my ground. "Did she lie to get me to join Magneto's rising group?"

"Well, of course she'd lie to you," Remy said. "No doubt about that. Why are you so surprised, Marie? You're the famous Rogue, _oui_? Leech and all."

"Yeah." I looked at him.

"You're very valuable, then." His focus turned back to the television, eyes glued to the screen. "The X-Men would love to have you back, too."

"So you think I should go to the X-Men?" I asked, half hopeful and half skeptical.

Remy dropped his ice cream, alarmed. "No!"

I nearly tumbled off the couch. "What? Why not?" I sat up and stared at him.

"It's… just…" he seemed to be lost for words, struggling to find the right thing to say. Finally, he said, "I don't like them. Don't go, _chere_. Please." His eyes pleaded with me, flashing red.

I blinked. "Then I won't go," I said faintly. "I don't want to go, anyway."

"Good." Then he offered me some ice cream, and our serious conversation was officially over.

* * *

"Remy, stop _spooning _me!"

He woke with a start. "_Désolé_," he said groggily, not even listening. The sound of my voice had caught his attention, not the actual words. He drifted back into a half slumber, winding his arms tighter around my torso.

"Remy," I said again. My voice sounded tight, unhappy. "Stop."

He groaned. "_Non_."

"What's wrong with you?" I asked, gazing up at the cracks in the ceiling, highlighted by the glow of sunlight streaming through the window. My heart was hammering against my ribcage, and my ribcage was currently being crushed by a certain Cajun's long arms.

"I'm… debonair," he muttered.

I rolled my eyes. "This… is the opposite of debonair. Did you get that word from Wheel of Fortune or something? Online Scrabble?"

"Maybe."

"Remy, I have to go. It's—"

"The first day of your new job," he said.

"_What_?"

"I pulled some strings," he murmured, eyes still closed. "In the middle of the night last night. You've got a new job, _chere_. It's better than taking orders for Janice."

"And what's that?" I said, sure that he was joking.

"You're gonna be a mercenary. Just like Wade."

I sat up. "You're kidding."

"No joke," He grinned. "I'm good, aren't I, _chere_?"

"REMY!" I jumped on him, furious. "I don't want to be a _mercenary_! I want a normal job!"

"Too late. Already told Janice you were quitting."

"Remy!"

He finally opened his eyes, warm brown gazing at me. "Oh, c'mon, Marie, give it a chance."

I sighed and dug the heels of my hands into my temples. "I don't want to kill people for a living."

"It's just one person. A mutant gone wild. And you don't even have to kill him. All you have to do is knock him out, then send him to a group of other people. They'll deal with him." Remy looked at my chest pointedly, and I realized that, in this position, he could see plenty.

Blushing, I leapt off of him. His eyes flickered red.

"So, it's not really a hitman job?" I asked quickly.

"Not really. Plus, you've got a month to do it and a lot of…" He grinned and rubbed his index finger and thumb together, "… _l'argent_. Money."

I narrowed my eyes. "How much?"

"Mmm… quarter of a million. Not as much as I'd bargained for, but…"

I yelped. Okay. So compared to the neat sums showed in action flicks, it wasn't a particularly large amount, but $250,000 was a lot of money in reality. It was to _me_, anyway, the southern girl who had lived so poorly after her mother abandoned her. "And all I have to do is get him unconscious?"

"_Oui_. It shouldn't be too hard for you, with those mutant powers of yours."

I got out of bed and looked at him. "How'd you get this job for me?"

"Bunch of weird scientists needed help." He shrugged. "I'm debonair, remember?"

"Well, thanks. For being so debonair." I bent down and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. A peck, really, but Remy immediately froze up.

"_De…rien._" He said slowly, stunned.

"Oh, don't be such a virgin," I said with a smile, finding it ironic that I was saying this line to _Remy LeBeau_ of all people. "It's just a kiss."

"No, _this _is a kiss," Remy said, and stood up. The blankets fell away, and I tried not to stare at his bare chest and muscled arms and—and—

He pushed me against a wall, his lips hard and passionate against my mouth.

_Oh_, I thought, as I reacted and kissed back, feeling fire spread through my veins. Then he moved down to my neck, dropping kisses on the column of my throat, then back up.

Unintentionally—I regret this—I moaned. For a moment, he gaped. Then, chuckling, Remy continued on with his mouth-rape, knowing perfectly well that the walls were thin and the neighbors…

Wait, my other neighbor—

"HEY, YOU TWO!" Wade hollered from next door. "KEEP IT DOWN!"

I pushed Remy away, my face burning and my poor heart ready to collapse.

"_Chere_," he started, and the red lust flaring in his eyes evaporated when he saw my expression, the want quickly replaced with sudden panic. "I shouldn't have…"

How would I react? What could I do?

"Don't do that again," I said flatly. "Get out."

* * *

_Friday, December 3. Monday, December 6. Sunday, December 12.  
_

"What about this piece of paper? What does it mean?" I asked over the phone. The person at the other end, a monotonous voice, flatly replied.

"Dates," it said. "He has a pattern of going to a certain place on certain days. You'll find him at Hart's. You are familiar with that restaurant, am I correct?"

"Café," I corrected him. "It's a café."

The man sounded annoyed. "Yes, well, you may attempt to find our subject in that particular _café _on one of those three dates. You will receive a daily salary, regardless of what you do each day. But if you do not complete the mission after two weeks, we will take _all _of it back."

My heart accelerated, pounding loudly in my chest. It was beating the way it had reacted to Remy's touch this morning, but the situation was completely different. "Uh… What's his name?"

"He goes by the alias 'Deadpool.'"

"Deadpool," I repeated. The name sounded awfully familiar, but I just couldn't place where I'd heard it before. "Alright. Thank you." The man hung up before I could say goodbye.

Wait a minute.

_Today _was the third of December!

I nearly dropped my phone, fumbling with it and finally sticking it into my pocket.

It was December 3rd, but I'd only received dates, not times, so how was I supposed to find this Deadpool guy? Would I wait in Hart's for the entire day, loitering like a sullen teenager?

It was cold outside. My legs moved on their own, directing me toward Hart's. It would be warm in there, and I could get something hot to drink and relax. I could find Deadpool. No worries.

As I moved down the street, I thought less about the cold and being a mercenary—instead, I thought about Remy… for what might've been the fiftieth time in the last hour.

The way he'd kissed me just hadn't been right. Bobby had never kissed me like that. It made me uncomfortable, just thinking about it. I didn't want—well, I'd expected it to happen sooner or later, since Remy and I were so close that we were actuallysleeping in the same bed.

But… I'd thought that I would be the one to fall in love with him. That I would fall head over heels helplessly, because Remy was attractive and cocky and fearless. The opposites of golden boy Bobby and animalistic Logan. My heart wouldn't stir, but Remy seemed to honestly like me.

I didn't feel the same way.

Did I?

I frowned, my fingers wrapping around the handle of Hart's front door. I pulled it open, and a warm gust of air hit me. _Mmm_. I could feel the blood returning to my cheeks and hands.

I slipped in, glancing around.

Hart's was nice, actually. Nicer than Sparkle. The name wasn't the only thing that was just a tad more sophisticated—Hart's was like an old-fashioned burger joint, but the menu bragged of their organic food dressed in eco-friendly wrappers.

The place was packed with people, and I could barely make out any faces, much less recognize the mutant I was being paid to send into a comatose state. The picture that had been sent to my cell phone, sent by a private number, was old and blurry and hard to see. Still, no one in the room seemed to have the same features that Jack did, the ones that were distinct enough for me to make out from the fuzzy megapixels: chiseled chin, large forehead, sharp nose and ruffled brown hair.

"Hello," said a waiter, as I sat down at a table. He gave me such an exaggerated once-over that I wondered if he thought all women were blind. "How are you doing today?"

I forced a smile. "Cold."

"Oh, then you should try our fresh-ground coffee. It's delicious." He said slowly, carefully, as if he had a hard time remembering what he was supposed to be reciting.

"Okay," I said. "That sounds good."

He lingered at the table. "Um…"

I waited.

"My shift ends in half an hour. Do you think the two of us could—"

As if propelled by Tinkerbell's goddamn fairy dust or something, Wade appeared in all his red-and-black glory, dragging Remy by the elbow. "Marie! Hiya!"

The waiter stared at him, probably wondering what this strange masked man was doing, rudely interrupting his weak conversation-starter. "Excuse me."

"Yes, excuse you," Wade said nonchalantly. "Could you get me an omelet that doesn't taste like some farmer's fresh manure? Cow patty isn't as appetizing to me as it was a few years ago. Goes straight to my waist now, you know."

The waiter glared at him, and I could tell that he wasn't sure if Wade was making fun of him or just plain crazy. He scribbled down the omelet order in his little notebook of recycled paper and stomped off, grumbling to himself.

"Hi, _chere_," Remy said, so quiet that it shocked me. "How's the job going?"

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "So-so."

"What job?" Wade asked.

"Marie's a mercenary now," Remy informed him.

"Oh, really?" Wade shoved his hand into the air. "High-five!"

I smacked it feebly.

Remy cleared his throat awkwardly, meeting my eyes. "Um, about this morning…"

"It's alright," I assured him, though I wasn't positive if it really was. "Don't worry about it."

Wade's mask twitched. "This morning? You guys were doing the nasty, weren't you?"

Remy looked like he wanted to kiss me again.

"Uh, Wade?" I quickly changed the subject. "Who were you hired to kill?"

Wade blinked. "Frenchy," he said, sounding almost serious.

Remy snorted and I rolled my eyes, smiling. "Sure."

* * *

"May I ask what you're doing here?" Wade asked cheerfully. "Not that I don't enjoy your company."

I exhaled, lowering my gaze. "Remy sleeps in my bed now. I want to get away from him."

"Why? I thought you two were having wall-sex this morning." He peeled off his black and red suit, left only in his striped boxers, and plopped down on the bed.

I glared at Wade from the makeshift bed of blankets he had set up for me on the floor (I couldn't risk touching him again and getting those horrific nightmares), my face heating up. "No, we weren't!"

"Do you want me to kill him for you?" Wade said brightly, turning his head toward me. His wide, permanently opened eyes made me shiver. "He's the person I'm supposed to kill, anyway."

"Wade," I said, "Stop saying that. It's not funny."

"It's true," he insisted, yawning widely and stretching his long arms. "Some guy named Hart hired me. He didn't mention Frenchy's name specifically, but he told me to murder the man Janice was working-with-slash-sleeping-with. And we _all _know who that is."

My automatic reaction was to defend Remy since he wasn't really _sleeping _with Janice, but then I realized how true Wade's words seemed and how stupid I'd been to not believe him and my mouth fell open in shock. "Oh," I said, gaping at him. "You're going to kill Remy?"

"Maybe," Wade said with a nonchalant shrug. "Do you care about him?"

"Well…" I swallowed. "Of course. He's a good friend. Maybe more." I looked at Wade. "Why… why isn't he aware of this? You're pretty obvious about it."

Wade smiled wryly, and all of his insanity seemed to have momentarily faded, replaced with a solemnity that was so out of character. "The only thing he's aware of, Marie, is you."

"That doesn't make any sense." I stared up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," he mumbled, and turned off the light. "Sometimes, he's just thicker than his accent."

Drenched in darkness, on Wade's floor, I was still and silent, deep in thought.

"Wade?" I asked quietly, still waiting for some crazy saying from him. Something about fruit or Madonna or unicorns. _Something_ to break this somber atmosphere.

But there was nothing but Wade's soft breathing, almost silent. He was asleep.

So I closed my eyes and followed him into slumber, letting him lead the way.

* * *

**The world's supposed to end today, isn't it? ****All the more reason to update.**

**Thank you, thank you to Saint of the Sinners, Muroun, Silver, booketgirl11, clueless c, Where the plum trees lie, courtneykutie, Rogueslove22, Fire Makes Me Smile, vampiregirl1654, EmeraldGreyClouds, tfobmv18, annemariedarkhome, Celeste Genevieve, PuddingCup30, My Beautiful Ending, KittyKat5742, Cowgrl94, Chellerbelle, CurrentlyIncognito, Chica De Los Ojos Cafe, and Demon Flame.**

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	7. Chapter 7

**Did anyone else watch First Class? I loved it. I want the ginger who played Banshee, and Michael Fassbender. Oh, yum. ;D**

Chapter Seven

Over the night, Wade had somehow tumbled out of bed and landed on top of me. And god, he was heavy. I woke up to his torso sprawled over my body and his arm flung out several feet away from where he'd originally been. This was a great position for Remy to find me in, but surprisingly, the guy didn't come barreling through the door shouting my name. Not this morning.

…Which was perfectly okay. Right?

My mind was a psychotic whirlpool and I was trying to keep Wade's personality away, but it was hard to do with his warm skin touching mine. But he wasn't like any of the other people I'd ever touched before. I could barely absorb any information from him—just unsaturated insanity and incoherent thoughts, and those quick nightmare-inducing memory flashes. Stupid man should've put on a shirt.

I tried to push him off, but Wade was clearly not going to budge. I tried again, this time with more strength. When that didn't work out, I crawled out from underneath him and climbed onto his vacant bed, leaving him on the floor. I couldn't handle going Wade-crazy right now, with most of everything that made him _him _swirling around in my head and threatening to take control. We were very similar, in a way, as he had also seemed to have a bunch of voices swimming around in the wasteland that was his brain. But the various sopranos and baritones that occupied his head seemed louder than anything that I'd ever experienced. The best option for me was to go back to sleep and hope that his personality—and those mind ghosts, especially that one annoyingly present voice that sounded a lot like a conscience—would go away when I woke again.

It worked. Sort of. I had awful, terrible nightmares, but it was better than being someone else (someone with mental problems) for a couple of hours, practically bouncing off the walls.

When my eyes opened again, I had a pounding headache, but most traces of Wade were gone from my mind. Wade himself was gone as well, apparently, the apartment silent and empty.

I bolted upright, memories flooding back. Oh, god. Wade was going to kill Remy. He'd asked me if I cared about him—_and I did, dammit_—but that didn't necessarily guarantee Remy's safety.

I hesitated. Wait. Remy could hold his own against Wade. And would he believe me if I told him that Wade was going to kill him? They'd lived a couple doors down from each other before I'd arrived, and they were sort of friends… in Remy's eyes, anyway. I wasn't sure if there was anyone that Wade could really consider a friend.

I hopped out of Wade's rickety bed and yanked the bedroom door open, staggering through a sea of junk before making it to the front door safely.

With perfect timing, Remy walked by just as I stepped into the hallway.

"_Bonjour_, Marie," he said, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Slept with Wade again?"

I bit my lip. I'd missed Remy last night, though I was reluctant to admit it. "Look, Remy—"

"I know, you're not interested." He ran a hand through his messy hair and stared determinedly at the carpeted floor. "Got the message, _chere_. No need to kick a man while he's down."

My eyes widened and I said quickly, "No—no, that's not it."

Remy's head snapped up. I saw brief hope, before it faded and he stopped, as if getting a grip on himself, and studied me with cautious eyes. "Then what is it?"

Well. Being straightforward was the only way to go, it seemed. "Wade's going to kill you," I blurted. "He was hired by an old beau of Janice's."

Remy burst into laughter. He laughed and laughed, doubling over.

"Are you finished?" I asked after a few seconds, tapping my foot impatiently.

"_Non_," he wheezed, and laughed some more.

"Remy!" I glared at him. "Listen to me!"

He didn't, although he did straighten up and wipe a couple tears of mirth away. "Honestly, Marie, did you really believe what Wade said yesterday at Hart's? He was just kidding. Wade tends to do that. He's mentally unstable, if you haven't noticed yet."

"Remy—"

"And I've known him for a while, _chere_. He hasn't tried to kill me once."

"Remy!"

"I don't know where you come up with this stuff. Is it an X-Men thing? Are you—"

I was sick of being reminded of the X-Men, who'd always restrained me. I wanted to act on impulse and be free, and this was a perfect time to be impulsive—so I kissed him.

At least it got him to shut up. His lips were soft and familiar and he was too stunned to react at first, but that didn't last long. I pulled away just as he started to kiss back.

I wiped my mouth, my lips tingling, and cleared my throat and asked, "Will you listen to me now?"

"Oh, _oui_," he croaked. "Of course."

I fought against a smile, my mouth twitching, and took a breath and got down to business. "Hart hired Wade to kill you, because Hart was in a relationship with Janice before. I guess he's easily jealous."

"That's ridiculous," Remy scoffed, taking my hand and tugged me down the hallway. His fingers were warm and I didn't complain. Contact was still contact, I reminded myself, I thought idly about how good it felt. "I visit Hart's often. Why doesn't he just pick up a rifle and gun me down, then?"

"In the middle of his own busy café? You've lost your mind." I watched absentmindedly as he opened the door and tugged me inside with him. "Besides, Hart might not even know you personally. He hired Wade to find Janice's new man, not specifically Remy LeBeau."

"But… Wade told us yesterday, _chere_, and I thought it was a joke because he was so blunt about it. Why would he give away information like that so easily?"

"Same reason you didn't think to believe him," I answered flatly. I put emphasis on the cause. "He's mentally unstable, remember?" I glanced around. The things on the walls were actually really pretty, I noticed. Some of Remy's previous girlfriends weren't bad artists at all.

Wait. Hold on.

Remy looked at me. "Marie…"

I yanked my hand away. "Dammit, Remy! What am I doing in your apartment?"

"Well, you didn't complain when I led you here," he drawled with a grin.

I stomped away, toward the door. "I'm leaving."

Smooth as silk, Remy glided in front of the doorway, preventing me from leaving. "Just another kiss, _ma belle_?" He asked, eyes flashing red. "Just one? Please?"

I sighed and gave him a quick peck. He seemed surprised, _again_, and I quickly took advantage of it and pushed him out of the way, escaping before he could ask for more.

"Watch your back," I called over my shoulder. Then I stopped momentarily, not quite having the guts to turn around, and said quietly, "I don't know how I would react if you got killed."

I'd spoken at a barely audible volume, but Remy had seemed to hear every word. Sneaky bastard. "I hope you'd be sad," he said from behind me. "Because I really, really like you, _chere_."

My face felt warm, and I scurried away as fast as I could.

* * *

Later, I went to a nearby market, where I happened to spot the girl Danica from my old job at the daycare. She seemed to be ignoring me, of course, which was perfectly fine, as I wasn't that excited to talk to her either. She was draped over a lanky man with shaggy black hair that covered half of his face like a dark curtain, the hood of his long purple sweatshirt pulled up over his head, his black jeans tight at the legs but falling slightly from his slim hips. A stereotype in the flesh. Actually, two.

I picked up an apple and inspected it. Immediately finding a dark spot, I set it back down and kept searching. In the end, some sort of strange guilty paranoia forced my hand to move back, snatch up the bruised fruit, and put in my bag. I felt bad for the apple, and I didn't want to leave it behind just because one little imperfection made it completely flawed. I understood how that felt.

Okay. I was sympathizing with fruit. That was surely a sign of deteriorating mental health, and I was really starting to question my sanity. I blamed my apartment neighbors.

"Ma-_rie_!"

I spun around to see my old coworker running toward me, her kohl-ringed eyes bright. Huh. So maybe Danica hadn't been intentionally ignoring me like I'd suspected, and she'd just failed to recognize me from afar. Or maybe she had changed her mind, had decided that she wanted to hold a lovely one-sided conversation with me anyway. "Hi, Danica."

She skidded to a halt in front of me and flipped her bangs out of her face before talking at a rapid, excited pace. "Holy Palahniuk. I haven't seen you in _forever_! How are you?"

I blinked, wondering if my ears were functioning properly. "Did you just say—" I stopped and shook my head. "Never mind. I'm great. It's nice to see you again."

"Yeah, of course it is." She gestured to the man behind her, who'd finally crawled over at a sloth-like pace. "This is my boyfriend, Holden."

"Hey," he said in monotone, clearly bored. His bottom lip was freshly pierced, the silver ring glinting, and that whole section of his mouth looked a little infected. I wondered how Danica could kiss him without being disgusted, and/or choking on the pus leaking from the wound.

"Your name is Holden?" I asked. "Like Holden Caulfield?"

He shrugged. "It used to be Zenith."

Danica elbowed him. "Marie doesn't want to hear about your previous names," she hissed. Then her voice transformed into something sickly sweet."So why don't you go buy some pears for me, love?"

"Okay." He said flatly, and slunk off.

Danica turned back to me. "Ugh," she said, wrinkling her nose. "Aren't boyfriends annoying?"

I blinked. "I don't have a boyfriend right now," I responded carefully.

"_Really_?" She fingered her hair. "Well, I'm not that surprised, but…"

_Ouch_."Well." I paused, huffing. "Maybe I have one." I paid for my bag of apples with the remaining cash in my pocket. I was too afraid to visit an ATM, since my daily mercenary payments were automatically sent to my bank account now, and I didn't want to face the growing number that showed exactly how much I had in there. It felt wrong to receive money when I hadn't located this 'Deadpool' mutant yet. "I'm not sure if I really like this one guy." I hesitated. "But he's into me."

"Free attention. Yum. So why don't you feel anything?" Danica seemed to be genuinely curious about my situation. "Is he ugly? Rude? Fat? Creepy? Or…" she paused. "Or are you _gay_?"

It reminded me of when I'd last absorbed Bobby, and felt the buried memories of the shocked and repulsed reactions that he'd gotten from his family for being a mutant, how they'd asked him if he could try not being one. Being a mutant and being gay were almost the same thing.

"Are you homophobic, Danica?" I snapped.

"No!" She looked stunned. "I'm… I'm totally bi."

"Then why do you bother me with blunt LGBT questions whenever I see you?"

"LGBT_Q_," she corrected me.

"What?"

"Q, for queer," Danica answered with a hint of smugness. "Questioning your own sexuality."

Alright, I'd completely lost my patience. "This is a strange discussion," I sighed. "I'll see you around, Danica. Bye." I turned to leave.

"Wait, wait!" She called out.

I stopped and glanced at her. "What is it?"

"I was fired." She snorted. "I was listening to my iPod on the job, and Suzanne totally ratted me out. Crazy, isn't it? But it's fine, 'cause I'm holding up a job at the mall now."

"Oh, well… that's good." I turned again, but she stopped me before I could even start walking.

"Marie!"

I ground my teeth together in aggravated exasperation. "What?"

Danica touched my elbow. "Give him a chance," she said. "That… possible boyfriend of yours."

I was silent for a moment, surprised, and then I said quietly, "Fine. I will."

"Good," she said, satisfied, and then flounced off. "Later!"

I realized at that point that some people, morally, were neither or white, just indescribably gray. Danica was gray, and Wade was gray too.

* * *

"Do you read comics, Marie?"

It was Monday morning, and I was loitering at Hart's with Wade. The weekend had flown by fast. I'd been looking forward to seeing Remy again and giving him a chance, as I'd promised Danica I would, but Remy was out with Janice, stealing left and right for her and maybe doing something else. The thought of _him _pressed against _her _made me a little nauseous, I reluctantly admitted to myself.

"Comics?" I didn't bother glancing at Wade. My eyes were too busy being trained on the door, waiting for Deadpool to walk in—whoever he was. Today was one of the days he was supposed to be at Hart's, and I was eager to see him. I still hadn't found anyone remarkably similar to the badly taken picture I had on my cell phone. The closest I'd gotten was seeing Ryan Reynolds on a magazine cover on a stand at the Duane Reade, because the actor had all the features that the man in the photo did. But Ryan Reynolds wasn't Deadpool, definitely not. "No, not really. Do you?"

"Of course," he replied. "I _thrive_ on comics. Sometimes I eat them."

"Um… okay," I said. "What do comics taste like?"

"Paper," Wade said in a thoughtful tone. "And Grant Morrison."

"Uh huh." I looked back at the door again.

"Are you having eye seizures?" Wade asked curiously. "You should have that checked."

I glared at him, but quickly, in case Deadpool just happened to walk through the door. "I'm doing my job, Wade. Shouldn't you be doing yours?" I stopped, wanting to mentally slap myself, stupidly remembering that his job was to kill Remy. "Wait. Never mind. Don'tdo it."

But Remy was with Janice, evil and mean Janice, so…"Well." I considered it. "Actually—"

Wade cut me off, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Or, rather, moving his mask up and down. "What if I told you that we're both comic characters and right now I'm breaking down the fourth wall?"

"What's that?"

He blinked. "What's what?"

I rolled my eyes. "The fourth wall."

"What separates fiction from reality."

"Oh, really?" I pinched his arm. "Feels pretty real to me."

"Owie." He rubbed his arm.

"Yeah, I like you too," I teased lightly. The words simply flew out without any deeper meaning, but Wade stared at me like I'd just proposed to him. His gaze wasn't _normal_—and normal for him meant slightly psychotic and started to burn, and I immediately glanced away, uncomfortable.

"Hey." Time to change the subject. "Do you know a guy named Deadpool?"

Wade snapped out of his funk, and I was relieved when he laughed his usual maniacal bark of laughter. "Oh, yeah. I see him all the time." He paused, rubbing his chin through his mask. "Say, do you think I could be the Phantom from _Phantom of the Opera_? I _am _horribly disfigured, after all." He gazed off into the distance, his voice slow and seductive. "The l_aaaa_diesfind it incredibly sexy, I've heard."

"Oh, yeah," I said sarcastically. "Mutilation is hot."

"Really?" Wade looked hopefully at me, and suddenly, he ripped off his mask, causing the cashier behind the register to yelp in terror and trip over something. My heart completely melted. The redness around his eyes, the pale color of his skin, the scars and very hairless head—well. I was startled. This would all still take some getting used to, but this was Wade. "You think so?"

_Awww_. What an adorable unhinged demented mercenary. I smiled slightly. "Sure, Wade."

* * *

"Re-my." I split the syllables into separate words, rather than drawling it out.

"Ma-rie." He puckered his lips, but I pushed his face away, not in the mood to kiss.

I sighed. "I'm glad you're not dead."

Apparently, this shocked him (for the _fiftieth _time today, at least) and he fell back, landing on my perfectly made bed and ruining the nice crisp lines and folds. "You're _glad_?"

"Is that really such a surprise?" I tried not to smile, crossing my arms and walking over to stand over him. "What are you doing in my apartment, anyway?" I loomed over him menacingly.

He paused, then replied cheekily, "Playing with fire." To prove his point, he shifted, his hands sneaking up to grab my hips and pull me down with him. I fell, our chests brushing.

"Sugar," I half-snarled, half-cooed, "you're going to get—"

"Burned. I know." His lips curved. "I couldn't care less, _chere_. Just stay like this for a moment."

Something wistful in his voice told me to obey. So I did, even going as far as relaxing against his torso and enjoying the warmth. I owed him another chance, didn't I? I wasn't a little girl anymore, and shy glances across the room from an ice boy no longer made my heart sizzle. (Or, um, freeze, because Bobby wasn't really capable of burning anything.) I'd grown up, it seemed.

Remy's collarbone bumped my jaw, and I grumbled, "This is really uncomfortable, Remy."

"Here." He adjusted me until my body lined up with his perfectly, like two magnets clicking together, and my cheek suddenly fell into that _great _part of his shoulder, like it was meant to be there.

It was quiet. My arms locked around him, and one of his hands tangled in my hair. Some weird, endorphin-crazed part of my brain thought that there was nothing more peaceful than this.

"I agree," Remy said softly, just as I realized that I'd said it out loud.

* * *

**A filler chapter, sort of, but it still took me time to crank this out. I'm so slow. T_T**

**BUT I AM DETERMINED TO FINISH THIS!**

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